Satan's Ribbon
by WynterSnow
Summary: While conditioning for a bicycle race, Charlie becomes stranded in the desert following an accident, and ends up playing a game of cat and mouse with an escaped convict. PG13 for violence and attempted rape. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Numb3rs and the primary characters belong to CBS and the producers. I am accepting no compensation, and this fiction is presented solely for the joy or writing it and hopefully for the pleasure of the fans who might read it. Jessup and Erica are characters from my own imagination.

**A/N:** This is my very first "Numb3rs" fic, and it's another Charlie-in-danger story, but this one is very much Charlie-centric, and with only a few exceptions it will be almost entirely from his perspective. I love the characters as they are presented on the series, so therefore I am attempting to stick to canon as much as possible. However, Charlie is completely out of his environment here, and that opens up personal interpretation to how might react in certain situations. In this story, he will know fear and physical pain, so his reactions are how I think he might respond based on what I have seen in the series. As far as I know, there is no highway 13 in California. It is another of my creations.

**Summary**: While conditioning for a bicycle race, Charlie becomes stranded in the desert following an accident, and ends up playing a game of cat and mouse with an escaped convict. PG-13 for violence and attempted rape.

**One**

"Charlie, I don't think this is such a good idea," Alan Eppes said as he watched his son attach the bike to the portable bicycle rack on the back of the car belonging to best friend and fellow CalSci professor, Larry Feinhart. "There is a reason why Highway 13 is called 'Satan's Ribbon!' It is the most deserted, desolate stretch of highway in California! What if something happens?"

Dressed comfortably in sneakers, a pair of blue jeans, and a printed tee shirt that had seen too many times in the wash, Charlie patted the cell phone that was tucked into the clip pocket on his belt to reiterate his link to civilization. "That's what cell phones are for. And I have my trusty helmet and knee and elbow pads to cushion the fall if I should have an accident. Don't worry! It'll be fine!" His voice and his smile were cheerful, but it did nothing to reassure his father.

Alan gave a somewhat sarcastic chuckle, without a smile and with no humor in it. "Don't worry, he says. How can a father not worry about his son? It's the middle of the Mojave Desert! You could get dehydrated or –"

"I have a large bottle of water," Charlie interrupted, showing his father the clear plastic bottle. "It attaches to the bicycle on the down tube. My pump attaches to the seat tube, in case I lose air in the tires. I planned this out very carefully. Here, I'll show you." He opened up a California map that Alan had sometimes used during his working days, and, spreading it on the trunk of the car, he pointed to a location in the desert. "See? This is where Larry is going to drop me off." Moving his finger down the thin gray line that designated the highway, he stopped at a small black square beside it which he had circled with a red pen. "Right here is a rest stop at a little under the midway point of my ride, _The Desert Oasis_. It has a service station, a restaurant, and a convenience store."

Alan's eyes lingered on the tiny square on the map which marked the location of _The Desert Oasis_, feeling no reassurances whatsoever that a single rest stop and a cell phone were the only things that prevented his son from being entirely isolated from the rest of the world. "I know. I passed them when I took that particular highway once about twenty years ago coming back from a conference in Las Vegas."

"There, see? It'll be fine! I can have lunch at the restaurant and buy another bottle of water for the remainder of the trip."

"Charlie, the reason I took that stretch of road was because they were doing some road work on the Interstate, and like an idiot I thought I could save time bypassing the construction zone. It probably took me even longer because of all the curves around buttes and bluffs and rugged terrain. On that entire stretch of road, I encountered only a few vehicles. People prefer to take the interstate."

"That's why I picked it, Dad. Less traffic means I'm less likely to be hit by some careless driver who's not paying attention to his driving."

Alan gave an indulgent smile at this comment, knowing that lack of attentive driving is what had cost Charlie his own driver's license, and he exchanged an amused glance with Larry over the top of his son's curly head, which was still bent over the map.

Charlie continued, so intent on the map that he did not notice the looks that passed between his father and his friend, "At approximately five thirty this evening, Larry and Laurel will pick me up at the Traveler's Stop Convenience Store on the way home from their hike." He traced the gray line on the map with his finger, stopping at a crossroads where the convenience store was positioned. He grinned at his friend. "Larry and Laurel. That's kinda cute."

"Never mind that," Larry said quickly. Focusing on the map, he said, "Are you sure that is enough time for you to get there? That looks like a pretty long stretch of road."

Charlie nodded, vigorously. "Sure. I made my calculations based on the length of the highway, an average estimated cruising speed, allowing for adjustments in my speed going up and down numerous small hills, plus approximately one hour to stop for lunch and an additional thirty minutes scattered at various intervals to rest along the way. Figuring in the effects of mild wind drag generated by the very light breeze we will have today, my calculations put me into Traveler's Stop somewhere between five fifteen and five forty five. There are too many variables to set a precise time, but five thirty is a good round number. However, should something happen that promises to delay my ETA past five forty five, I will give you a call. You do have your cell phone, right?"

Larry showed him the phone that was clipped to his belt.

"Then we're all set," Charlie said, happily. He started to open the rear door of the car, but was stopped by his father's hand on his shoulder.

"Look, son, I know you've been conditioning yourself for that charity endurance ride that the University is sponsoring in a couple of weeks, but why can't you be content with a nice ride in the park, like other people?" Alan asked, his worry evident in the creases on his brow.

"Where's the adventure in that?" Charlie asked.

"As a father, I would like a little less adventure where my sons are concerned. It's bad enough that I have to worry about Don. I was happy when you became a professor, because I figured it was a nice safe job."

"Dad, I appreciate that you are worried about me, I really do, but I'm not a little boy any more."

"If I'd had my way, both you and your brother would have stayed little boys forever," Alan said, wistfully. "The point is, a father doesn't stop worrying just because his children are grown up." He gazed at Charlie's face, noticing the excited sparkle in his dark eyes, and sighed. "I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

"Sorry, Dad. I really want to do this. The proceeds are going to the charity of the winner's choice. I want to donate it to cancer research."

Alan looked away, reminded that his beloved wife had passed away a year before of the deadly disease. It was only natural that his son would want to do his part to find a cure for the illness that had claimed the life of his mother.

"I've planned it all out carefully, and I can't foresee anything that could go wrong," Charlie continued, barely pausing for breath. "I've had my bike thoroughly checked for soundness, the tires are brand new, and the brakes are reliable. I have all my protective gear and my cell phone. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I shudder to think," Alan muttered.

"It'll be okay, I promise," Charlie assured him. "I've been training on bicycle paths and on neighborhood streets, but I need something more challenging to test my endurance. This ride is exactly what I need to pinpoint where my weaknesses are, and what I need to work on. I think I have a really good shot at winning that race."

Alan lowered his gaze to the ground and said no more. Charlie was a grown man, and he could not forbid him to do this, no matter how much he wished he could do just that. He had never seen his younger son so enthusiastic about anything outside the realm of math before, and watching him train for the endurance race had been a pleasant change, but when he had announced his decision to ride, he had never considered that part of Charlie's training would include a ride down a lonely stretch of highway in the middle of the desert.

Charlie opened the car door and started to get into the back seat, but paused with one foot inside to look back at his father, recognizing the apprehension on the older man's face. "Would it make you feel better if I call you when I get to the _Oasis_?"

"That would help," Alan said.

"I'll talk to you a little after noon, then." Charlie got in the car and Larry backed the vehicle out of the driveway. Alan watched until the car turned the corner heading for the Interstate, the fastest route to the starting point, then went back inside the house, preparing himself for an entire day of worry.

xxxxxx

With the car's motor idling, Larry helped Charlie unfasten the bicycle from the bike rack, and placed it on the asphalt. Charlie nudged the kickstand down with his sneaker, and securely attached the pump to the seat tube, then fastened the bottle of water to the down tube.

Rising up again, he smiled at his best friend and mentor. "All set," he announced.

Gazing at the desolate landscape that surrounded them, Larry's face was etched with concern. "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider, Charles? Your father brought up some valid points. You're out in the middle of the desert, far from help if something should happen. I mean, there are other places that you can train for that race."

Charlie laughed. "You and Laurel are hiking through the backcountry by yourselves. This is no different."

"This is _very_ different. Laurel and I are together," the older man reminded him. "We aren't completely alone. Should something unexpected happen to one of us, the other will be there to call for help. Why don't we just put the bike back on the rack, and you can hike with us instead?"

"I don't want to hike; I want to ride. Besides," he added, nudging Larry in a teasing manner with his elbow, "I'd be a third wheel, especially if you and Laurel decide to get cozy out there in the desert together."

"I heard that!" Laurel called from the passenger seat.

Larry ignored Charlie's comment, and glanced up at the sky. It was clear and blue with only a few wispy cirrus clouds floating lazily in the upper-level currents. "You know, the sun can get really strong out in the desert. In spite of your ethnic appearance, you're not much darker than I am. You could burn to a crisp."

Charlie reached into his pocket and withdrew a small tube of sunscreen. "I'm prepared for that too. I put some on before I left the house, and I will put some on each time I stop to rest as extra protection." With a friendly laugh, he patted Larry's shoulder. "I'll see you at about five thirty. Enjoy your hike, and don't worry about me, okay?"

That was easier said than done. Larry watched silently while Charlie put on his knee pads and elbow pads, and finally he covered his long dark curls with a helmet. Last, he put on a pair of wire framed sunglasses to protect his eyes from the strong sun.

Turning to his friend, he saw the worried expression in Larry's eyes. "Larry, my life has always been structured and scheduled. I get up at the same time almost every day, I go to school, teach class, come home and grade papers, and go to bed. If I'm lucky, sometimes Don needs my help on an FBI case or you need an equation that breaks up the monotony, but the fact is, I have never done anything that was even remotely spontaneous or daring in a physical sense."

"Is that what this is about? Doing something 'spontaneous and daring'? Or are you trying to prove yourself to Don and your father? You don't have to do that, you know. Your dad and your brother may have trouble understanding your mathematical capabilities, but you have demonstrated your value on so many of Don's cases. Both of them are very impressed! And I've been impressed with your abilities since the day I met you! So what if you're not as athletic as Don? It doesn't matter."

"That isn't what this is about." He shrugged, and shifted his gaze to the surrounding landscape, as if searching for something that eluded him. "I can't really explain it, but I just feel like I need to be here for some reason."

"Now that's your imagination."

"Perhaps. But I'm here, and I'm taking this ride." He paused to look at the highway that stretched out ahead of him. "Los Angeles is that way, right?" he asked, pointing with his finger.

"Charles!" Larry exclaimed before he noticed that grin which revealed that his friend was teasing him.

"It'll be okay," the younger man repeated. With that teasing grin still on his face, Professor Charles Eppes mounted his bicycle and began peddling down the highway.

Larry returned to the driver's side door and opened it, but instead of getting into the vehicle, his gaze lingered on the retreating figure of his former student and dear friend.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Laurel Wilson asked through the open window of the car.

Larry nodded, slowly. "I have a bad feeling about this."

He stood and watched for several moments until his friend disappeared over a rise in the highway, then he got back into the car with his hiking partner and sped away.

xxxxxx

Charlie stood up on the pedals, leaned forward to apply a little extra effort to get his bicycle up the gently sloping asphalt. His pulse increased with the exertion and sweat trickled down his back, causing his tee shirt to cling to his damp skin. His scalp, concealed under the bicycle helmet, tickled annoyingly with sweat.

The first few hours of his bike ride had been pleasant. The morning air was cool, and the ride was fairly easy. But as the morning progressed toward noon and the sun moved higher in the sky, the temperatures began to rise and the terrain became rougher, forcing him to stop to rest more often than he had planned. When riding in a vehicle, the endless stretch of black asphalt seemed nearly flat, but when riding a bicycle, powered by his own legs, the small inclines in topography were much more noticeable. He knew that if he did not reach _The Desert Oasis_ soon, he would be thrown off schedule by an overwhelming need to stop and rest once again. But this was exactly what he had been striving for on this ride – to test his endurance.

His heart was hammering loudly in his chest, and the muscles in his thighs were beginning to knot up when he finally reached the summit of the slope. Gasping for breath, he allowed his bike to coast to a halt for a brief rest. Looking anxiously ahead, he saw the grouping of buildings that he knew would be _The Desert Oasis_. It was still several miles away, a cluster of small dots beside the endless ribbon of road. The good news was that it was at the bottom of the gradual descent.

His stomach grumbled eagerly, ready for lunch, and he glanced at his watch to verify the time. It was shortly after noon. "Yes!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, pleased that his calculations were nearly right on the money, even with the extra rest stop he had made a half hour ago. He was making excellent time.

Removing the water bottle from its holder, he tipped it up and took a drink. The liquid was warm from the heat and the sun, but it was wet and refreshing to his dry throat. With the back of his hand, he reached up to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

After a few moments, he felt his pulse slowing down to a more comfortable pace. Returning the bottle to its holder, he gripped the handlebars again, and pushed off.

The bike coasted easily down the long, shallow grade, progressively gaining speed and momentum on the gradual descent, and Charlie was content to sit back on the saddle and allow the speed to build. The tires on his bicycle glided smoothly on the asphalt with a slight "whirring" sound, and the wind generated by the rapid descent whipped past, blowing the dark curls that peeked out from beneath his helmet. For this one day, he was as free as the warm wind that blew across the dusty landscape that was dotted with clumps of brush and dried twisted trees that competed with desert wildlife for the scant moisture.

Keeping his eyes on the cluster of buildings as they drew nearer, he quickly deduced that things were not as they should be. There was not a single vehicle in the parking lot, and there was no sign of any activity. Even if there were no customers at that time, he would have expected to see some employee vehicles. A little nearer, he noticed the decidedly disheartening panels of plywood that covered the glass windows and doors of the buildings. By the time he turned into the parking lot, it was abundantly clear that the establishments had gone out of business, presumably due to lack of customers on this lonely stretch of road.

Coasting to a stop in the parking area that separated the restaurant and service station, Charlie was immediately struck by the impression of total abandonment, like a ghost town. On his left at the service station, the ancient pumps used back in the sixties and seventies still stood like silent sentinels beneath the awning, but the garage doors were securely padlocked. The letters spray painted on one of the boards read _Closed_. On his right, the restaurant and adjacent gift shop and convenience store were equally secured against vandals. Clumps of tumble weeds were nestled against the sides of the buildings, and the mild breeze whistled in a lonely manner through the rafters.

"Aww, man!" Charlie exclaimed his disappointment aloud, and his stomach grumbled resentfully, echoing the sentiment. There would be no lunch for him that day, except for the packet of peanuts that he had tucked into his pocket as an energy booster. Well, this was a setback, but nothing he could not endure.

Still straddling the bicycle, his gaze fell upon the awning that stretched across the drop-off point in front of the restaurant doors. It would provide adequate shade for him to rest beneath before continuing his ride. Dismounting, he guided the bike under the canopy and pushed down the kickstand.

He immediately felt a slight drop in temperature as he moved out of the sun and into the shade, a welcomed relief from the constant glare. Reaching up, he unfastened the chinstrap of his helmet and lifted it off his head. He refastened the strap and looped it over one of the handlebars, and ran his fingers back and forth through his hair, relieving the sweaty tickle that had plagued him for some time. Then he removed his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose, and hooked one earpiece over he neck of his tee shirt. Stooping, he removed his bottle of water again, and tipped it to take another drink, a shorter one this time, for he would be unable to replenish his supply of water until he reached the Traveler's Stop at the end of his journey. He would have to conserve his ration. After recapping it securely, he returned the bottle to its holder, and fished the packet of peanuts out of his pocket.

Opening the long cellophane bag, he walked to the front door of the diner and sat down on the curb, folding his legs beneath him. Emptying some of the nuts into the palm of his hand, he observed them with a wistful sigh. A couple of handfuls of peanuts would do little to stave off the gnawing hunger generated by the strenuous physical exertion of his lengthy ride. Leaning back against the plywood that covered the front door, he ate his meager lunch, one nut at a time to make them last longer, but all too quickly, he had consumed the last nut. The cellophane bag was wadded up and tucked into the rusted old cigarette receptacle that still stood near the door. Leaning back again, he allowed his eyes to drift over the desolate landscape that surrounded the rest stop.

Never before had he been in such a lonely place. It was difficult to guess how long the _Oasis_ had been abandoned, but the absence of human occupation was palpable in the unkept appearance of the buildings. Apparently, at one time, before the construction of the interstate, it had been a thriving business. The double garage doors at the service station suggested that mechanics had been on duty to make repairs for stranded travelers, and while they waited they could browse the gift shop or sit for a meal at the restaurant across the parking lot.

The restaurant building was large, suggesting a large patronage during its heyday. The plywood had been securely nailed in place over the doors and windows, but the deterioration that comes from neglect was evident in the shingles that were beginning to detach from the roofs, and rust was beginning to gnaw away at the antique pumps of the service station. Graffiti had been spray painted on some of the boards and married the stone walls of the buildings.

The curb on which he sat was refreshingly cool. Twisting his body parallel to the building, he lay down on his back on the concrete, allowing it to cool his overheated body. As he began to relax, he closed his eyes for a while to rest them, taking care not to doze off, for that would throw him behind schedule. As he rested, he listened to the silence of the desert. There was no traffic, no car horns, no school bells, no sirens, and no people shouting. Only complete and total silence, the most perfect silence he had ever heard.

After a while, he began to feel the warm haze of sleep sliding into his mind, so he forced himself back into a seated position, fearful that the peaceful quiet would cause him to doze off. Remembering that he had promised to phone his father, he withdrew his cell phone from its holder, and called home. Alan answered quickly, suggesting that he had been waiting beside the phone in anticipation of the call.

"Hi, Dad."

"Charlie?" Alan's anxious voice came back to him. "How's it going? Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine, Dad. I'm just checking in as promised to let you know that everything is okay."

Alan heard the teasing quality of Charlie's voice. "Ah, in other words you're rubbing it in, right?"

Charlie laughed, happily. "Now, would I do that?"

"Yes, I think maybe you would." He heard the soft laughter on the other end of the line, and felt his heart warm with affection for his younger, gifted son. "You're enjoying yourself, then?"

"Yeah, I am. I will admit its a little harder than I thought it would be, but everything is going smoothly and I'm right on schedule. I haven't seen a single car this entire trip, though. I'm at _The Desert Oasis_ right now. Was it open for business when you were here?"

"Well, I didn't stop, but there were cars in the lot when I passed. Why?"

"They've closed down. Looks like it's been closed for a long time."

"Well, that's hardly surprising, is it? Like I said, most people prefer to travel on the interstate, and it was twenty years ago when I traveled that route. So, you have no place to buy water, then?" he asked, the worry returning to his voice.

"I've used it sparingly, so I still have some. I've been resting in the shade under one of the awnings, and I had the peanuts for lunch that you insisted I take. Thank you for insisting, by the way, since it is the only thing I will get until supper. Speaking of which, don't hold supper for me. I'm going to suggest to Larry that we stop for a pizza on the way back." He paused to glance at his watch. "Well, I'm getting ready to head out again, so I'd better get off of here and get going."

"Okay. I'm glad you called, son," Alan said, meaningfully. "Be careful and have a safe ride."

"Sure, Dad. Talk to you later." Ending the call, he returned the phone to its holder.

Sufficiently rested, he stood up and stretched, driving away the slight fog of drowsiness that had settled over him. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the tube of sunscreen, and smeared a generous portion over his bare arms, face, and neck to protect himself from the strong sun. Then, he returned to the bicycle and put on his helmet and sunglasses again. Pushing up the kickstand, he mounted the bike and pedaled down the highway once again, heading toward Los Angeles, unaware of the danger that awaited him.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter one

**A/N**: Thanks for the positive reviews. It means a lot.

* * *

**Two**

_BANG!_

The sound of the muffled explosion directly beneath him caused him to flinch in startled reaction, and in the same instant he felt the front of the bike take an unexpected, heart-stopping dip. With the front wheel suddenly immobilized, the back end of the bike flipped up, and he was launched into the air and over the handlebars with startling abruptness. With fascinated eyes, he watched the asphalt as it rushed up to meet his face.

Just before impact, he closed his eyes tight, brought his arms up to protect his face, and allowed his body to become limber, for he knew that if he skidded at this great speed, it would peel the skin from his body. An instant later he made bone-jarring impact, his padded elbows striking the pavement first. He rolled to one side as his left arm folded beneath his body, and pain numbed his left shoulder as it collided with the hard asphalt. Rolling and tumbling down the highway, he felt another sharp pain in his right hip and at the same time heard an alarming crunching sound. His sunglasses leaped from the bridge of his nose. Behind him, he could hear the clanging and banging of the bicycle as it cartwheeled down the highway, end over end. Without making it a conscious thought, he hoped it did not land on top of him.

After what seemed a much longer time than it actually was, he came to an abrupt stop and silence settled over the desert again. When he opened his eyes, he found that he was lying on his belly, spread eagled on the highway. Somehow, he had turned around so that he was facing his bicycle, which had come to a stop behind him only a couple of yards back.

Charlie lay still for several moments, taking a mental inventory of all his body parts. Slowly, he moved his arms and legs and turned his head from side to side, gauging the degree of discomfort with each movement. There was some minor pain in his elbows, which had struck the pavement first, and his left shoulder ached, as did his right hip, but everything else appeared to be intact and relatively undamaged. The helmet and the knee and elbow pads had effectively done their job of sparing him serious injury.

Slowly, he pushed himself into a seated position, wincing at the pain in the shoulder that intensified with the movement. Reaching back with is right hand to probe the discomfort in his hip, his hand made contact with the cell phone belt-clip. He withdrew the phone from its soft leather pocket and watched as it literally fell apart in his hands. That explained the peculiar crunching sound he had heard. Although he was grateful that it had not been his hipbones that had caused the sound, he knew this was bad news, and he sat for several disheartened moments, staring at the shattered phone that had been his only link to civilization. He was now stranded in the middle of nowhere with no way to call for help.

Reaching up, he unfastened the helmet and removed it, then thumped it down on the asphalt beside him, a gesture of frustration. The mild breeze instantly cooled the sweat that dampened his unruly curls. Pausing there on the pavement, he placed the pieces of the cell phone inside the helmet while he rested for a few moments, gazing at the bicycle, which lay on its side. The rear wheel was still turning slowly as the well-oiled chain moved through the guide, but the front wheel seemed to be hanging lopsided from the rim.

Finally, with considerable effort, he struggled to his feet, picking up the helmet with his left hand while his right hand pressed against his left shoulder in an attempt to ease the throbbing pain that persisted. He rolled the shoulder back and forth, and determined that it was not broken or dislocated, but almost certainly sprained and probably contused. Releasing the shoulder, he rubbed his hand on the sore spot on his hip. There would be a cell phone shaped bruise there, also. But it would heal. His swan dive over the handlebars at such a high speed could have left him with worse injuries than a few contusions. Instinctively, he knew he would experience greater soreness when he got up the next morning.

Slowly, he began walking back toward the bicycle. Halfway there, he stooped to pick up his sunglasses. The earpieces were askew, and the lens on one side was shattered. Useless. Dropping them into the helmet with the broken cell phone, he went to the disabled bicycle.

Grasping the handlebars, he pulled the bicycle upright again. It seemed to groan in the process, like an injured horse struggling to its feet. Pushing down the kickstand, he squatted down to assess the damage. A gaping four-inch rip in the front tire indicated that he had probably run over something sharp which had pierced the tube, resulting in the blowout. The frame displayed a few new dents, several spokes were bent, and some paint was scraped off, but it could be repaired, once he managed to get back home. Humorously, the water bottle and the pump were both still firmly attached to the frame in their respective holders, intact and unharmed. An anomaly.

Rising to his feet again, he looked up the long stretch of highway that led toward Los Angeles. He saw only the endless gray-black ribbon of highway and the dirt and sagebrush and rocks that made up the desert on both sides. Placing his hand on top of his head in utter despair, he turned to look behind him, but there was nothing to be seen in that direction, either. He had left the abandoned rest stop behind miles ago.

As a person who relied on numbers to solve his most complex problems, his first instinct was to try to calculate how long it would take to walk back to Los Angeles, but he knew it would be a useless endeavor. There were too many variables, since he would have to factor in variations in walking speed on the uneven terrain, and an unknown number of rest stops for an incalculable amount of time depending on levels of exhaustion. He wasn't even sure how many miles were left on the trip. His conclusion: Too far.

With a dejected sigh, he refastened the chinstrap of his helmet and draped it on the handlebars by the straps so that it hung upside down. Next he removed his knee pads, elbow pads, and cycling gloves, and he stuffed them inside the helmet with the sunglasses and the phone. While riding the bike, he had barely noticed them, but on foot, they seemed hot and cumbersome.

Feeling extremely helpless, he glanced up and down the highway again, trying to decide what to do. His only option seemed to be to walk back to the abandoned rest stop in the hopes that the payphones not been disconnected yet. More than likely, they had been taken out or disconnected, but it was a lot closer in distance than the place where Larry would pick him up later that evening. At the very least, when he failed to show up, his friend would backtrack and find him, and the awning would provide shade while he waited.

Severely discouraged and lacking enthusiasm about the walk that lay ahead of him, he folded his arms on the handlebars of his bicycle and rested his head on them. Closing his eyes, his tired mind attempted to form a mental picture of the group of buildings, struggling to remember if there had been a telephone at the service station or at the restaurant. Unfortunately, Charlie rarely took notice of details that surrounded him, and in his desperation his mind conjured up payphones in every nook and cranny of the buildings that he was quite certain were not there. Still, they were once operating businesses, so there had to have been phones there at one time. With a little luck, maybe one was still connected as a courtesy to stranded travelers like himself.

He lifted his head from his arms. Realizing that the flat tire would make it difficult to push, he knew he would have to make a decision about what to do with his bike. As much as he hated to do it, he had no choice but to leave it behind, but first he needed to find a secure hiding place for it.

His eyes shifted to the surrounding landscape. Desert sage, Mojave yuccas, ocotillo, creosote bushes, and a host of other desert plants were growing in abundance. He could hide the bicycle behind a clump of brush and retrieve it later, when help arrived.

With the decision reached, he pushed the bicycle off the asphalt and onto the dry ground of the desert floor. It was difficult to push on the dirt, so he simply picked it up and carried it behind the nearest clump of brush and set it back down again. He leaned on it briefly to catch his breath again, then pushed it as close to the brush as he could, effectively concealing it from the road and anyone who might try to steal it. He felt the absurdity of what he was doing, for there was no one around to steal the bicycle anyway, but hiding it made him feel better. As he rested for a moment, he noticed the bottle of water in its holder, and he reached down to remove it. For his long walk back to the _Oasis_, he would need it to stay hydrated.

Emerging from the brush, he returned to the highway and picked up a chunk of sandstone, which he used to mark a large **X** on the surface of the asphalt to mark the location of his bike so that it could be recovered later. Then he tossed the rock aside and started walking

xxxxxx

An hour and a half later, he paused, panting and sweating at the top of a high rise of ground. His hair and his shirt and jeans were damp and all three clung to his moist skin. Lifting the hem of his shirt, he used it to mop the perspiration from his face, then taking it in both hands, he began a fanning motion with the fabric to cool his torso.

Then, he uncapped the bottle of water and placed it against his lips, but he only took a short drink and he was careful not to waste any of it, for very little remained in the bottom of it. After recapping it, he dragged his fingers through his wet hair to push it off his forehead as he scanned the horizon, marveling at the fact that he had not seen one vehicle the entire day. No wonder the _Oasis_ had gone out of business. Something in the back of his mind told him that he should have inquired about the rest stop before embarking on this outing, but he had failed to heed that inner voice of logic.

Gazing ahead of him from the summit of the shallow hill, he saw that the road head of him made a gradual but steady left-hand curve, a slow continuous arch that had been barely noticeable as he had traversed it on the bicycle. His eyes followed the curve in the asphalt, hoping to see the cluster of buildings somewhere along that stretch of road, but he saw nothing except the road itself, flanked on both sides by the desert, until his gaze finally reached the most distant point of the highway that was visible to his eyes. There, so very far away that they were tiny specks on the horizon, he saw the _Oasis_.

With a discouraged sigh, he began walking again, thinking about the distance he still had to travel. The safest and probably the most sensible route would be to stick to the road where he might encounter a passing motorist, but he had not seen a car all day on this lonely stretch of highway, and at this point he knew that the likelihood was very remote. His other option was to cut across country and, in his estimation, shave more than a mile off his journey before reaching the highway again on the other end of the curve. But to do that might risk missing Larry when he came looking for him.

He glanced at his watch, which had survived the tumble down the asphalt with only a few scratches. It was after four o'clock. Larry would not be arriving at the rendezvous spot for another hour and a half, via the Interstate. He would likely remain at the convenience store for at least a half hour, maybe longer, waiting for him, before setting out in search of him. His heart sank with the reality that it would be at least two hours, and probably longer, before anyone even realized he was missing. That gave him ample time to cut across the terrain in an attempt to shorten his walk.

With one final glance at the tiny dots on the distant horizon, pinpointing the location in his mind, he turned off the highway and began walking across country. The buildings he sought quickly disappeared behind the uneven topography, but he was confident that he could calculate their location by the position of the sun.

At first the walk was fairly easy for the youthful professor. He was in good physical condition, and the hike was a welcomed relief from constantly being on the bicycle saddle. His well-worn sneakers made almost no sound on the hot, dry soil, merely a slight crunching sound whenever he walked over a gravelly portion of ground. There was only a slight natural breeze to cool him, far different from the stronger breeze generated by the speed of his bicycle, and he frequently reached up to mop the perspiration from his brow. The sun was continuing its gradual slide toward the western horizon, and he knew that the hottest portion of the day would be with him for a while before evening began to cool the atmosphere.

As he walked, he observed the rugged terrain that surrounded him for many miles in any direction, noticing that some of the desert flora was still in spring bloom, but as they were nearing summer, the biggest part of the colorful flowers had already dried up, scattering their seeds for the next generation of bloom. A cluster of barrel cactus was midway though its bloom, still showing off their yellow-orange flowers, while a small flock of birds fed on the fruits of the older, spent flowers.

The birds scattered when they saw him, resettling after he had passed, and he turned around to watch them, curiously, having been unaware of the diets of desert wildlife. Turning to face front again, a tawny blur bounded across his path, startling him so badly that he stumbled backward and sat down hard before he could recover. The event jarred his sore shoulder painfully, and his hand went to the injury in a protective manner. Still seated on the dry, dusty ground, he watched as the animal bounded several yards away before it stopped. Turning slightly toward him, it scrutinized him with interest, its nose twitching as if to determine whether or not he was a predator.

Charlie laughed softly. It was only a jack rabbit. Climbing slowly to his feet, he rubbed the tenderness in his shoulder and began walking again. After a moment, he saw what had frightened the hare, and it brought him to an immediate halt.

A rattlesnake was curled up in the shade beneath a creosote bush. Its eyes watched him intently as its forked tongue flicked in and out, testing his scent. He could see its rattle, poised beside its head at the top of its coils, but it made no sound, apparently unthreatened by the young man.

Charlie gave it a respectfully wide berth to avoid startling it, and proceeded on his way.

Raising his wrist, he glanced at his watch again, and felt disheartened that only a half hour had passed since the last time he had looked. He still had a long way to go, and it was becoming apparent that, while he was shaving distance off his walk, he was probably not saving time due to the rugged terrain, and the hike was much more difficult.

As he considered his error, he was stopped abruptly in his tracks by an unusual sound, one that seemed hauntingly familiar; a sound he was certain he had heard before. He turned in a circle, listening carefully, searching for the source of the sound. Then he heard it again: a soft crying sound, like the mewing of a kitten.

He knew that some cruel people dumped their unwanted pets in remote locations to fend for themselves, and he also knew that few survived such cruelty. Most either died of starvation and thirst or were killed by cars. _Not likely to happen in this area,_ he thought wryly, thinking of the abandoned highway behind him. Some feral cats could sometimes survive in harsh conditions, but certainly not a domestic kitten. Anything that small would likely fall prey to snakes or hawks. Instinctively, he moved toward it.

When he heard it again, much closer this time, he felt as though his blood had suddenly turned to ice water in spite of the intense heat, for it became apparent that the voice he had heard was not that of a kitten. It was the whimper of a frightened child.

"Please don't hurt me," the voice pleaded.

A sound that reminded him of a low growl answered, and his first instinct was concern that a small child had somehow become cornered by a wild animal. Quickly, he realized that while the sound had not come from a four-legged predator, it had certainly come from the two-legged kind. He heard the smacking sound of a hand striking flesh, and the child began to cry.

"Didn't think I would catch you, did you?" a man's voice snarled.

The sound galvanized the young professor into action, and he bent low to the ground as he crept to the edge of an arroyo. Stopping there, he grimaced with revulsion and apprehension at the disturbing scene below him.

A large man was walking along the bottom of the arroyo, dragging a struggling young girl of about eleven or twelve years of age by the wrist. Using her feet for leverage against the uneven ground, she pulled and struggled, attempting to break free, but he held her in a viselike grip on her wrist.

"Stop it!" he growled. "You shouldn't have tried to run off! Where the hell did you think you were going out here, anyway?"

"Please! Let me go!" she begged. Apparently, she would rather take her chances with the desert than the man who held her in his grasp. Charlie could not say he blamed her.

While the young professor watched, his eyes large with horror, the man shoved her roughly to the ground in a shaded spot beneath an overhanging Joshua tree. She cried out when she landed on the rocky surface.

"Well," the man said menacingly, "I see no reason to wait until we get back to the car. It'll be just as good out here in the open."

Kneeling over her, he began wrestling with her over the decorative blue cord that was tied at the waist of her denim jeans. It was obvious that he was attempting to unfasten it, and that she was resisting. Screaming in terror, she twisted her body and fought him, kicking and punching at his face and body.

"Oh, man!' Charlie groaned, his voice a mere whisper as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Frantically, he looked to his left and then to his right and finally he looked over his shoulder behind him, as if expecting that help would miraculously materialize. He saw only the endless expanse of desert in all directions. If anyone was going to help the child, he knew it would have to be him, but he had no idea how he could rescue the girl without causing physical harm to himself. He placed his hand over his mouth, trying to think of a solution to this new problem.

It appeared that the man was not carrying a gun or a knife, but he still had the advantage of size. He looked to be more than six feet tall and very muscular. Charlie was certainly no match for him. To fight him would be suicidal.

The girl must have managed to deliver a solid kick in a tender part of the anatomy, for the man bellowed in pain and rage and abruptly released her. Seizing this moment of distraction, she tried to scramble away from him. Recovering quickly from his pain, channeling it into anger, he quickly grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her back. Then he began to wrestle with her jeans again, but she fought him, kicking and clawing. Her struggles seemed to excite him further, but when he had enough of it he slapped her, sending her careening onto the hard ground again.

"You may as well give it up, you little brat," the man told her, harshly. "This is going to happen, and there is nothing you can do about it. It will go easier for both of us if you stop fighting it."

Her hand went to her stinging cheek, and she began to cry again. When her struggled ceased, the man's hands went to his belt buckle and unfastened it.

The girl was about to be raped. Charlie knew that, and he knew that his conscience would not allow him to stand helplessly by watching while that happened. But what could a mild mannered, peace loving math professor do to stop it? Slight of build, Charlie had little athletic prowess, but his one asset was his cleverness. Hoping his bluff would work, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted frantically, "Hey, Don! David! Guys, she's over here! Bring your rifles! She's being attacked!"

The man's head jerked up in alarm, and an expression of wild-eyed panic flashed across his face. Spying the young man at the top of the arroyo, listening to his urgent calls for help and assuming that a search party had been looking for the girl, he did exactly what Charlie had hoped he would do; he scrambled to his feet and fled down the arroyo.

"Don, hurry!" Charlie yelled. "He's getting away!"

His urgent shouts prodded the attacker to run even faster. He glanced once over his shoulder when the young man shouted again to his comrades, but as he faced front again, he stumbled over a rock and pitched forward on his face. He scrambled up again, and resumed his flight away from the rescuer. Charlie noticed with amusement that the attacker was attempting to fasten his trousers as he ran.

Standing alone atop the rocky bluff, the professor could only grin in amazement and self-satisfaction as he watched the retreating figure disappear around a bend in the arroyo.

"Guess that'll teach you to pick on someone your own size," Charlie quipped as he picked his way down the rocky slope toward the girl.

When she saw him coming, the child scooted away from him, a frightened expression on her smudged face. Getting her feet under her in a crouched position, she did not take her eyes off him as she prepared to flee if he proved threatening. He had saved her from the other man, but it was apparent that she did not trust him, either.

He instantly stopped, understanding that she had precious little reason to trust any man right now. He had no experience whatsoever with children, his students being young adults, but being victimized and traumatized was something he was familiar with from his own youth, for the smartest kids were always the ones who got picked on by bullies. "It's okay. I won't hurt you," he said in a soothing voice. "I'm here to help."

She whimpered in fear, but she remained where she was, watching with large, terrified eyes. After a moment, he began moving toward her again, approaching slowly and cautiously. Shifting her gaze from the man, she searched the rim of the arroyo for the other people in the search party, and realized that this man was alone. He had lied.

"I promise, I won't hurt you," he said, continuing to speak softly to her. He knelt down about six in front of her and tried to smile reassuringly. "My name's Charlie. I'm a professor at CalSci University. Have you ever heard of it?"

She shook her head, negatively.

"Well, it's a pretty small campus, and you're pretty young. On the other hand, it's never too early to start thinking about the future, is it? When its time to decide on a college, you might want to consider it." He gave an apologetic shrug and a rather embarrassed smile. "That was a shameless plug, wasn't it?"

Responding to his words and his smile, she almost answered with a smile of her own. He saw that she seemed to be relaxing just a bit, and knew that he was beginning to win her trust.

"I'm going to help you get home, okay?"

He saw something flicker in her eyes at the word _home_, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry again. Her chest gave a couple of small hitches, but she quickly recovered.

He made no move to approach any closer, and she stared back at him, focusing on his kind face. Young and very casual in appearance, he did not look like any teacher she had ever had in school, but his calm demeanor and friendly attitude seemed to settle her, and hope sprang to her heart at his indication that he would help her get back to her family. She nodded.

"It's okay, honey," he assured her, keeping his voice soft and gentle. "There's no need to be afraid of me. I'm a nice guy. Are you from the L.A. area?"

"San Berna –" She broke off abruptly as her eyes focused on something over his shoulder, and with a feeling of unease, he saw her face contort with fear.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Sorry about the rather abrupt ending of the previous chapter, but for continuity's sake I needed to save the details for Chapter Three. Hope you enjoy it.

**Three**

The girl's expression contorted in fear, and Charlie experienced a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach when he heard the crunch of gravel under someone's foot behind him. He spun around, attempting to rise to his feet at the same time, and barely had time for his eyes to register the sight of the club swinging directly at his face before it struck him on the forehead.

A brilliant light exploded inside his head, and he felt his body twisting in the air from the force of the impact, and then he was falling. He landed on his knees and elbows, his face only inches from the ground as he struggled to fight off the unconsciousness that was attempting to seize him in its grasp. He felt unnaturally weak, as if completely drained of energy, and his vision swam in and out of focus. Unable to maintain the effort to stay on his hands and knees, he slowly allowed his body to sink lower, so that his abdomen was resting on his thighs, which were tucked under him. His forehead rested on his hands, which were balled into fists on the ground. He knew that he was in a posture very similar to a fetal position, but he did not have the strength to alter it. It was as if every muscle in his body had ceased to function.

"You stay put!" the man snarled at the girl, who had apparently tried to use the moment of distraction to run off. His voice sounded abnormal to the injured professor, like it was coming to him from the end of a long metallic tunnel, but the volume and sharpness of it roused him slightly from the fog of oblivion that had nearly overtook him. "You move, and I'll bash your head in! Don't think I won't do it!"

Charlie was uncertain if the man was speaking to him or the girl, but he was in no condition to ask for clarification. At the moment, he wasn't able to move, even if he wanted to.

He wasn't sure what he expected to feel like after being hit over the head, but somehow, this wasn't like anything he had ever imagined. Not that he had ever sat around thinking about what it might feel like. There certainly wasn't that funny little circle of stars floating around his head like in the cartoons. In fact, there was nothing funny about this at all. His ears were ringing and there seemed to be a dark veil drifting across his eyes. He blinked rapidly and shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but that made the throbbing start. With a groan, he reached for the place on his forehead where the throbbing was centered, and gingerly pressed his fingertips against the soreness. There was no indication of a laceration, so he withdrew his fingers to verify that there was no blood present.

As he stared numbly at his fingertips, he was aware of the other man slowly circling him. Without moving his head, he shifted his eyes toward the figure that shuffled slowly around him, watching the pair of heavy duty work shoes as they were placed one in front of the other, crunching the gravel on the floor of the arroyo as their owner walked. Vaguely, he was aware of the child whimpering nearby. Like him, she was afraid to move.

"Thought you could fool me, did you?" the man asked, menacingly. "That was pretty clever, scaring me off by pretending there was a search party after the girl. Guess you didn't figure I would stick around long enough to check it out, did you?"

Charlie closed his eyes briefly and grimaced, more from disappointment than from the pain. He should have been paying attention. He knew the guy had run off; it should have been easy enough to deduce that he would come back when he figured out the ruse. It had been too easy, and he had been reveling too much in his surprising success. He had let his guard down. That was why Don was the FBI agent, and he was the math consultant. If Don had been here, this would not have happened. Opening his eyes again, he watched his attacker, warily.

The man continued to circle him, something which was making the young professor feel decidedly nauseated. He thumped the club in the palm of his hand, repeatedly, a steady rhythm intended to intimidate. It was working. Charlie was terrified. He could feel himself shaking inside. His fingers were trembling, and in an effort to steady them he closed his hands around fistfuls of dirt, sand, and gravel, holding them tightly.

"What am I going to do with you?" the man asked, clearly enjoying the fear he saw on his victim's face. "I could kill you, you know. It would be very simple. And there are so many ways I could do it. I could do it quickly to spare you the pain, or I could do it slowly and watch you suffer." His taunting voice told the young professor that he would just as soon torture him slowly. After a moment, he squatted down on his heels beside the younger man and cocked his head, studying him with curiosity, noticing that his victim's face was youthful and attractive, framed by dark ringlets. "You're kinda cute, know that? All that curly hair and big brown eyes." He chuckled, pleased with the thought that had just entered his mind. "Maybe when I'm done with that little girl, I'll have a go at you, too."

Charlie froze. Even his heart seemed to skip a beat as his mind processed the information it had just received. It was not difficult to figure out exactly what the man was driving at. Peering out of the corners of his eyes, focusing on the club that the man had propped in front of him, he noticed that it was a piece of driftwood that had apparently been found in the arroyo.

"I'm not gay." In his fear, his own voice sounded alien to him.

The man laughed. "So? Neither am I. But if there was one thing I learned in prison, it's that a good looking boy like you can be as good as a young untouched girl. Yep, when yer in prison, you make due with what'cha got. And them young offenders are easy to overpower. They scare easy, like you are right now. Ain't that right, boy?"

Charlie felt a twinge of resentment at the repeated use of the word "boy", but did not dare voice his objection.

_Prison!_

For the first time, he noticed that the man was wearing prison fatigues. He lifted his head a little higher to look directly at the man's face. Cold gray eyes stared back at him, and he recognized something familiar in that harsh round face that bristled with stubble. The man was grinning, and Charlie saw that several of his teeth were missing. Most of the rest were rotting, and he could smell the man's foul breath across the three feet or so that separated them. On his forearm was a skull and crossbones tattoo.

He felt his pulse step up a notch. He had seen that face and the tattoo in one of Don's case files. A prison escapee. _What was his name?_ He concentrated on that file, trying to see the label in his mind. It came to him with a jolt. Jessup! Yes, that was it; Doyle Jessup; imprisoned six years ago for the brutal rapes of three young girls and the murder of one of them.

His lips parted as he stared at the harsh face, and his breathing accelerated with the confirmation that this man was extremely dangerous. Jessup was a hardened criminal who had somehow managed to escape from prison five days ago, killing one of his guards.

Jessup's smile faded, detecting the recognition on the younger man's face. "You know me, boy?"

Charlie looked away, quickly, focusing on the small brown pebbles directly beneath his nose. "No."

"Then why are you starin' at me like that?"

"I – I just . . . I'm sorry." _That was a lame thing to say_, he thought.

The man burst out laughing. "Yer scared o' me, ain't'cha?" He leaned closer to Charlie's face, so close that his foul breath nearly made the young professor wretch. He turned his face away, seeking more breathable air. "Yer gonna be a whole lot scareder by the time I get finished with ya," Jessup continued. "I ain't known for my gentleness." He leaned even closer, only inches from Charlie's dark curls, and he seemed annoyed that the young man's face was turned away from him. Grasping a handful of long curly hair, he wrenched Charlie's head around so that he was facing the convict and smelling that putrid breath again. He laughed with satisfaction when Charlie drew in a sharp, painful breath as his hair was pulled. "How does that sound, boy? Hmm? Maybe you'd even like to go first?"

Charlie stared into the convict's face with wide eyes, knowing fully well that Doyle Jessup enjoyed inflicting pain on his victims. He was already sampling that violent tendency as the convict continued to hold his hair in a tight grip that he feared would pull it right out of his head. The pictures in the file flashed into his mind; pictures of the girls he had raped, displaying the bruises and bite marks on various parts of their bodies, and he felt revulsion that this man intended to do to him and the young girl the same disgusting things he had done to his previous victims.

The convicted criminal was still grinning, delighted with the pain and terror he saw in those wide brown eyes. Roughly, he released his grip on his captive's hair, allowing the young professor to shrink down again.

Tearing his eyes away from that ugly face, Charlie closed them tightly and pressed his forehead against his fists again, trying to block out the horror of what had just happened and to shut his mind to what was about to happen. But as his forehead touched his hands, he became aware of the gravel and dirt that was still clutched in them. A twinge of hope stirred in his heart as his mind formulated a plan. It would have to count. He only had one shot; one chance to save his life and that of the little girl, for he knew that Jessup would probably kill them once he was finished with them.

Wrenching his body upright, he flung the contents of both hands directly into Jessup's face as hard as he could. Dirt and gravel sprayed into the convict's open mouth and eyes with enough force that it made his head jerk backward away from it.

With a bellow of pain and surprise, Jessup fell backward and sat down hard on the ground, clawing frantically at his eyes and coughing and spitting the dirt and gravel at the same time.

Scrambling to his feet, hoping his strength had returned enough to carry him to safety, Charlie grabbed the girl's hand and yanked her upright so abruptly that she cried out in fear, but she did not struggle against him, recognizing that he was her only hope of escaping the man who had kidnapped her. Clinging tightly to her rescuer's hand, she and Charlie ran as fast as they could away from the criminal and up the craggy slope of the arroyo.

Unwilling to let his captives get away, the man climbed to his feet and staggered after them several steps, but then stopped. Bent at the waist, he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, still trying to get the dirt out of them. He bellowed again in rage and pain, but he was clearly in no condition to give chase.

"I'm gonna kill you!" he shouted at the footfalls that retreated rapidly up the sloping ground. "Hear that, boy? I'm gonna hunt you down and _kill you!"_

Charlie heard the chilling threat, and when he reached the rim of the arroyo, he chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. Jessup was still bent over at the waist trying to dig the debris out of his eyes with his grimy fingers, but it appeared he was only making it worse for himself, for he was groaning loudly in pain and frustration as he rubbed the dirt and gravel that was trapped beneath his eyelids. It was obvious that he had been completely disabled by Charlie's offensive maneuver, for it appeared he could not even get his eyes open. Eventually, he would recover as his own tears washed the dirt from his eyes, but by that time the professor hoped to have a comfortable distance between them.

Dismissing the criminal's physical agony as an unfortunate necessity, the price paid for his behavior, Charlie led the girl away from the arroyo and across the rugged terrain, hoping he was leading them to safety. But he knew that neither of them could keep up the pace very long.

Glancing up at the sky, he stopped abruptly, realizing that the direction they were running would take them back toward the highway where he had left the bicycle. That was no good; the abandoned highway offered no refuge. Altering course, he turned toward the direction of the cluster of buildings, his original destination. "This way," he said to the girl.

Panting and whimpering, the young girl clung to his hand and struggled to keep up, but she was rapidly tiring. She needed to stop and rest, but each time she slowed, the man pulled her along behind, forcing her to keep up.

"Please!" she begged. "I can't go any farther!"

Deeming that they were far enough away from their attacker to justify a brief rest, Charlie slowed down and stopped.

Gasping for breath, the girl pulled free of his hand, and moved a couple of steps away from him, establishing her personal boundary, then sank down on the hard ground. Turning away from her, his eyes scanned the area behind them, searching the desert for indications that they were being chased. The desert was calm and quiet, with no sign of their attacker. He knew it would be a while before Jessup was able to overcome the effects of the dirt and gravel in his eyes. Even after they were free of the debris, they would likely burn and sting for a while, making him very uncomfortable.

The adrenaline rush that had provided Charlie with the strength for his getaway was beginning to dissipate, and intense fatigue settled in its place. Panting in his exhaustion, he leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, and willed his pounding heart to slow down. It was thudding loudly in his heaving chest, and he could feel it throbbing in his temples and pulsing at the point of injury on his forehead.

What were the odds that the convict would follow them? His mind focused on the probabilities, the variables. He might decide to leave the area to save his own hide. On the other hand, he was a convict who had made a threat against him. He might just intend to carry out that threat. How could you get into the mind of a convict? Don could do it; it was his job to understand the thought process of criminals. But Charlie was too gentle. It was not in his nature to comprehend such things.

He stared at the ground between his sneakers. It was hard and dry and covered with tiny bits of gravel. They had left no distinct footprints for him to follow and they had altered direction, both plusses. He would have to be an experienced tracker to follow them, and tracking was a fine art. Still, he was determined not to let his guard down this time. He had made that mistake once; next time he would be ready.

Gradually, his pulse and his breathing began to slow down to a more comfortable level. The throbbing in his head continued, but seemed to ease up again as his heart settled into a slower rhythm. Feeling a little better, he stood up straight again and turned his head to look at the young girl, who still sat on the ground trying to catch her breath. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. Thank you for helping me," she said, her voice small and scared. "He was . . . he was g-gonna . . . "

"I know," he replied, softly.

The girl sat quietly and watched the young man who had rescued her. Something in his posture and in his kind and gentle face suggested that he was someone she could trust. After immobilizing her kidnapper, he could have simply run off alone, leaving her to fend herself, but he had not. He had rescued her, and he had refused to allow her to fall behind as they ran. He probably could have traveled faster without her, but he would not leave her. "Can you see him?" she asked.

"No, no," he replied. "I think we got away. Okay, well, we can't stay here," he said, his voice sounding a lot more confident than he felt. He had no earthly idea what he was going to do to protect the girl if the convict should decide to hunt them down. Violence made him uncomfortable. Don was the experienced criminologist, the one who could stare them in the eye without cringing in fear. But Don wasn't there. There was only Charlie, the gentle mathematician. "There's a group of buildings somewhere northeast of us. They've been abandoned, but I'm hoping maybe one of the pay phones is still connected, and we can call for help." Glancing at the girl again, it occurred to him suddenly that she and her kidnapper had to have had used a means of transportation to carry them into the desert. Most likely, the guy had stolen a vehicle. "Unless . . . Did the guy drive?" he asked, hopefully. "Maybe we can hijack his car."

"Yes," she replied. She climbed to her feet again. "It's parked right over . . . " She paused, looking frantically around at the desolate landscape. "I don't know. I don't know where it is. Everything looks the same! I think its back over there," she said, pointing back the way they had come.

Charlie shook his head. He had not noticed a vehicle parked at the side of the road. "I was walking down the highway for a long time, and I didn't see it."

"He drove off the highway for a long time. I guess he was afraid someone would drive past and see the car."

Charlie gazed longingly in the direction indicated, wishing for that vehicle, but he had no intention of going back the way they had come to search for it, for that opened up the possibility that they might encounter the convict again. His head was throbbing relentlessly, and he raised his hand again to probe the injury, wincing when his fingertips touched the sore spot.

"Did he hurt you bad?" she asked.

He withdrew the hand and looked at his fingertips. Still no sign of blood, but it was tender enough that he knew he would have a contusion, at the very least. "I don't think so. Maybe a minor concussion."

"Gee, you sure were brave," the little girl said, admiringly. "You didn't holler out or nothin' when he hit you!"

"I didn't?" Charlie asked, surprised.

"Nope. You just fell. I was afraid he'd killed you."

Reaching out, he took her hand again. "Come on. Our best bet is to see if there is a phone or something at the service station. If there is, we can call for help. My brother is an FBI agent."

"Think there will be a water fountain there?" she asked, timidly.

_Water!_ At some point, he had lost his bottle of water. He could not even remember when or where he had dropped it. He stroked his temple with his fingertips, trying to think. Maybe on top of the bluff, when he had first seen the convict. Or maybe he had set it down when he knelt beside the girl, shortly before he was assaulted. Maybe he had dropped it when he had been struck with the club. Well, the end result was the same. Regardless of how he had lost it, they had no water.

He knew that it was highly unlikely that a water fountain was still in operation, and even if it was, it would probably be undrinkable. In answer to her question, he replied, "I don't know. What's your name?"

"Erica Davenport."

He smiled. "Nice to meet you, Erica. I'm Charlie."

"You said before that you are a professor. You don't look old enough to be a professor."

"I've been one for nearly ten years. I started teaching kinda young." His eyes scanned the desert again, recalling the words Jessup had shouted after them – _I'm going to hunt you down and kill you!_ "I think we had better keep moving. I don't know if that guy will try to follow us or not, but I'd rather keep well ahead of him, just in case." He did not add that having a car put the criminal at a distinct advantage over the two of them on foot. On the other hand, maybe he would do the smart thing and just drive away.

Trustingly, she walked beside him as they made their way across the desolate landscape. Occasionally, he paused to note the position of the sun, and he muttered unintelligibly to himself as he made calculations in his mind, then he altered course slightly and proceeded.

"What are you doing?" she asked when he made yet another stop.

"I'm determining which direction the rest stop is, so that we don't get lost out here," he replied. "We have to make so many twists and curves because of the terrain that it's hard to stay on course."

"You can do that by looking at the sun?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm. You see, the sun follows a very precise course across the sky every single day. It changes as the seasons change, but those changes are very predictable, and based on the position of the sun at any given season at any particular time of the day, it is possible to calculate where you are in conjunction with a place you are trying to find. Now, I can't predict with absolute 100 percent precision where that rest stop is, but I can calculate its approximate location with enough accuracy to put us close enough to see it."

She listened to this jumble of words without comprehension. "That sounds pretty hard to do. Are you some kind of genius?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied. At first she thought he was joking, but his expression was serious, and the answer was spoken in a manner that was simply straightforward, no brag just fact. "It's both a blessing and a curse," he added. "It got me beat up a lot when I was a kid."

"That's mean. Do you teach astronomy or something?" she asked.

He smiled. "No. I teach applied mathematics."

She wrinkled her nose in revulsion. "I _hate_ math," she said vehemently.

"You _hate_ math?" he asked in disbelief, pretending to be offended and horrified. "I can't even imagine such a thing! Math is the most useful tool in the world! With math, you can do almost anything!"

"Like what?" she challenged.

"Oh, I see I have a disbeliever on my hands. Okay, I will tell you all about math . . . ."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Again, thanks for the wonderful reviews. Positive comments really give a writer inspiration to keep writing.

Also, it appears I have misspelled Larry's last name in the first chapter. I will correct that from this point forward.

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**Four**

Parked in a shady spot behind the_ Traveler's Stop_ convenience store, Larry Fleinhardt stood silently beside his car, his elbow resting on the top of it while his fingers tugged absently at his lower lip. His position offered him a clear view of the final length of highway 13, and over the past hour, his eyes had been focused attentively on the stretch of asphalt, waiting for a solitary figure to materialize. Civilization was encroaching on the desert, and a housing development was being constructed on the highway near the convenience store, but none of the few vehicles that he had occasionally seen coming and going was the bicycle he was looking for.

With a sense of growing trepidation in his heart, the CalSci professor withdrew his cell phone from its belt clip, as he had done five times during he past thirty minutes, and called Charlie's cell, but once again, as he had gotten the past five times he had called, the computerized voice informed him that the number he was trying to reach was unavailable.

As he tucked the phone back into the holder, Laurel Wilson emerged around the corner of the convenience store carrying two tall cups of lemonade that she had just purchased. "Any sign of him?" she asked as she offered one of them to him.

"No, no sign at all." Ignoring the cup of lemonade that she extended toward him, he rested his chin in his hand and gazed up the highway again. "Something's wrong," he said, his brow furrowed in worry.

"Maybe he forgot," Laurel suggested. "You know how Professor Eppes is sometimes. He's . . . well, let's just say he has the ability to tune out the rest of the world when he has something on his mind. He could have ridden right past this convenience store and never noticed it was here!"

Larry shook his head slowly in disagreement. "He can be forgetful about some things, but I don't think he would forget about this. He's been riding a long way; he's going to be hot and tired and looking forward to concluding this expedition."

"Maybe he got here earlier than expected, and called his brother to pick him up."

"That would imply that he miscalculated the length and duration of the trip, and the odds are very much against that." At her urging he finally accepted the cup of lemonade, but instead of sipping on the straw that protruded through the plastic lid, he set it on top of the car. He scratched the worried creases in his broad forehead with his fingertips. "Even on the off chance that he had called his brother, why would he turn off his cell phone?"

For this, Laurel had no answer. "Isn't he an FBI agent? Maybe you should call him."

Larry nodded, slowly. "I know. I was just thinking I should do that, but I just kept hoping . . ." He did not complete the sentence. Reaching for the phone again, he withdrew it from its clip again and punched the button that displayed the various phone numbers that were stored in its memory. He kept Don Eppes' number in case of emergency, but he had hoped he would never have to use it. Pressing the down button on the keypad to scroll down the list to the proper number, he highlighted the FBI agent's number, then pressed the "call" button.

After two rings, it was answered, and an authoritative voice on the other end said, "Eppes."

"Don, this is Larry Fleinhardt. I'm really sorry to bother you with this, but I was wondering if you have heard from Charles in the past few hours."

He heard a brief pause and the squeak of a chair as Don Eppes sat up straight. "No, Larry, I haven't. Wasn't today the day he was going to take that bike ride in the desert?"

"Yeah." Larry's eyes drifted up the abandoned highway again, hoping beyond hope that he would see a bicycle approaching, but saw nothing except the dirt, rocks, and desert plant life beyond the housing development. As he watched, a construction crew was wrapping things up for the evening, getting into their vehicles and driving away. "Well, I'm at the point where I was supposed to pick him up, but there is no sign of him. I've called his cell phone several times, but I keep getting a message that it's unavailable."

"Maybe he forgot to charge the battery," Don suggested.

"No, I saw him take it off the charger myself before we left."

There was silence on the other end of the phone as Don pondered the information that Larry had just provided. He knew his father had been worried about this trip, but he hated to jump to conclusions where Charlie was concerned. After all, he was a grown man capable of making his own decisions, and he resented being treated like the baby brother. "What time was he supposed to have met you?"

"Almost an hour ago."

"Well, that isn't very long, and it was a long trip to make on a bicycle. Maybe he miscalculated his time of arrival," Don suggested.

"Don, have you ever known Charles to miscalculate _anything_?"

Don was quiet for a moment again, then admitted, "No, not with the proper data."

"Even if he had miscalculated, I don't think he would have been more than a half hour off at the very most. You know how precise his calculations are." He glanced over his shoulder toward the sun that was sinking toward the western horizon. "You know, it's going to be dark in a few hours. I'm worried, Don."

"Okay. Let's not jump to any conclusions just yet. The highway he's on is rarely used, so I doubt if there has been any kind of vehicular accident involving anyone else. He might have had some other kind of problem with the bike, or maybe the mileages listed on the map he made his calculations from were incorrect. Have you back-tracked his route to see if maybe he's stranded somewhere?"

"I was just about to do that, but I wanted to let you know what was going on first."

"I'm glad you did. Let me know what you find out."

"Okay." Larry pressed the "end" button, and slipped the phone back into its pocket on his belt. After removing the cup of lemonade from the top of his car, he turned to Laurel and said, "I'm going to look for him."

Laurel looked startled. "Larry, it will be dark in a few hours. What happens if you get out there and get stranded, too?"

"I have my cell phone, a reliable car, and a full tank of gas. I can't just leave him out there. He could be hurt or something."

Laurel did not ask what the "or something" meant. She glanced briefly, longingly, up the adjacent highway that lead toward home. She had been hoping for a quiet, romantic evening with Larry, perhaps sharing a hot bath and a good meal, but she understood that circumstances had nullified that possibility, at least for tonight. "I'll go with you, then."

"Would you mind?" he asked, gratefully. "If something has happened, I might need help."

"All right." She squeezed his wrist warmly. "I'm sure he's okay; probably just on foot somewhere because that old bicycle broke down."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right," he agreed, but his positive words belied his concern. If that was the case, why hadn't he used his cell phone to call?

They got into the car, and Larry pulled out onto the lonely stretch of highway that led toward Las Vegas.

xxxxxxxxxx

After hanging up with Larry, Don immediately called Charlie's cell phone to verify that the phone was not in working order, and received the same recorded message that Larry had described. With his thumb, he pressed the "end" button, terminating the call. For several moments, he sat quietly gazing at the keypad, his brow furrowed in thought. "What are you up to, Charlie?" he murmured.

He was so deep in thought that he did not hear David Sinclair enter the office until he spoke. "Here's my report on that Rosemont case," the handsome black man said as he placed a file folder on Don's desk.

Don looked up, startled.

David nearly laughed at Don's jumpiness, but then saw the concern on his boss's face and thought better of it. "Are you all right?" he asked. "You look worried."

"Nah, it's probably nothing." He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Then again, it could be something. With Charlie, you never know. For the past few days, he's been worked up over this bike ride he's been planning. Something to do with a sponsored endurance thing that's coming up at CalSci. It's all he's been talking about, working on these formulas and equations to figure out how long it will take, how far it is, and a bunch of other things that I don't understand."

David smiled fondly. He liked Charlie. Then again, everyone seemed to like the mild-mannered professor. "To me, it's all just a string of numbers and symbols, but I guess they mean something to him."

"Yeah. He's been driving Dad and me absolutely nuts about it in ways that only Charlie can."

"Little brothers can be a pain at times."

"You got that right. Anyway, he decided he wanted to take this preliminary bike ride all alone down old state highway 13, of all places, to prepare for the race."

David shrugged, failing to comprehend the significance of that.

"I forgot, you aren't from around here. The locals who are familiar with that highway call it _'_Satan's Ribbon'. It used to be a fairly common route between L.A. and Las Vegas before they built the Interstate, but now it is the most desolate, unused stretch of road in the state."

"So why did Charlie pick that particular stretch of road to ride on?"

Don raised his hands as if in defeat. "That is anybody's guess. It's impossible to figure out how my brother's mind works, sometimes. Most of the time, in fact," he added. "Maybe he wants to prove something; I don't know. Anyway, his friend Larry was supposed to pick him up an hour ago at a designated place, but Charlie hasn't shown up yet."

Concern flickered across David's face. "Think something's happened?"

"I don't know. He probably just had a problem with the bike. Larry's backtracking his route now to see if he's sitting on the side of the road somewhere." He flipped the cell phone closed and leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his desk. "I'm just trying to decide whether to call Dad now, or wait until I hear back from Larry."

"I can't help you with that decision, but if you need someone to help look for him, let me know."

"Thanks, David. I appreciate that," Don said, sincerely. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after six thirty, past time to wrap things up for the day, so it meant a lot that his colleague was willing to put in his personal time to help find his brother. He watched as the black man walked out of the office, then turned his attention back to the cell phone in his hand.

He did not want to worry his father if Charlie turned out to be all right, but on the other hand if something serious had happened he knew Alan would be angry that he had kept it from him. Flipping open the cell phone again, he brought up the numbers he had stored in its memory, and his thumb lingered over his father's number. After a moment of indecision, he pressed the number, and waited.

After several rings, Alan's voice answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, Dad."

"Don!" He could sense the smile on his father's face upon hearing his older son's voice. "I'm glad you called. I was wondering if you would want to come by and have supper with me. Charlie said he and Larry will probably stop for pizza, and I would really like the company."

"Um, Dad, I . . . " He stopped, wishing he had not called. How do you tell your father that your younger brother might be missing?

Alan heard the hesitation and the unusual discomfort in his son's voice, and understood that he was calling to tell him something that was difficult to say. "Don, is something wrong?"

There was no backing out of it, now. "I'm not really sure. Larry just called and said that Charlie hasn't shown up yet at the convenience store where they were supposed to meet."

Alan's heart flopped over with a sickening feeling. _I knew it_, he thought to himself. He glanced quickly at his watch. "He was supposed to be there an hour ago. Has Larry called him? Is he answering his cell phone?"

"Something seems to be wrong with it. Larry keeps getting a message that the number is unavailable. I called it myself just before I called you, and I get the same recording. Larry is backtracking Charlie's route right now to see if he can find him, but I just thought I should let you know what's going on."

"I'm glad you did. But he only needs to backtrack as far as the _Oasis_ rest stop. Charlie called me from there a little after lunch to rub it in that he was doing okay. It's gone out of business, but he rested there for a while. Just before he hung up, he said he was getting ready to start out again."

"Okay, so he did complete the first half of the trip," Don mused. "That will cut the search area in half. Thanks, Dad. I'll call him with that information."

"Keep me posted."

"I will, Dad. And don't worry! I'm sure he's fine. His bike probably just broke down or something."

Don disconnected the call, then found Larry's number on the caller I.D., and called him back.

Driving down the road, Larry shifted slightly on his seat to retrieve the phone from the belt clip again. He glanced quickly at the number on the display, and recognized it. "Hello?"

"Larry, its Don. I just called Dad, and he said that Charlie called him shortly after noon from the _Desert Oasis_ rest stop, which was roughly the halfway point on his trip. So, we know that he made it at least that far. When you reach that point, if you haven't found him, I want you to give me a call back. No, wait. Just call me regardless of whether you find him or not. I want to know that he's okay."

"Will do," Larry promised. Disconnecting the call, he placed the phone on the seat beside him within easy reach, and explained to Laurel what Don had just told him.

Reaching out, she placed an affectionate hand on his arm. "I'm sure he's okay, Larry. He probably just broke down out there somewhere, and is waiting for someone to come pick him up."

"I'm sure you're right," he agreed, wishing he felt as confident as his words sounded. He squinted through the windshield, his eyes carefully scanning the road and the areas alongside it, taking note of each shrub in case Charlie was resting in the shade beside it. The sun was sinking lower in the sky behind him, and after a short time, he removed his sunglasses so that he could see the objects in a more natural setting. "This is such desolate country," he said, more to himself than to Laurel. "Very hot and dry. Heat exhaustion could be a factor here. Not to mention dehydration."

"Don't go expecting the worst, Larry," she urged. "He has a jug of water. If he's been using it sparingly, it should last him until we get there."

"Thank you for coming with me," he said, sincerely.

"Well, this isn't quite the evening I had planned for us, but that can wait. I'm glad I'm here."

He was too tired and worried to offer the teasing comments he wanted to make regarding their blossoming relationship following one "primal moment" a few months earlier, but she understood.

They fell silent again, concentrating on searching the areas on either side of the car as they traveled mile after mile after mile along the narrow two lane road. Traveling well below the speed limit, Larry and Laurel, friends, colleagues, hiking partners, and recently lovers, searched the desolate landscape for any signs of the missing mathematician. They saw only the dry, dusty terrain and the desert plant life, and by keeping their eyes riveted on the areas at the sides of the road, they passed right by the large X on the road without ever seeing it. All the while, the sun was setting lower in the sky behind them.

Finally, just as the sun was sinking over the western horizon, they saw the cluster of buildings and the rather dilapidated sign announcing _The Desert Oasis_. Larry turned on the blinker to announce his intention to turn into the parking lot, even though there was no one around to see it. Slowly, he pulled alongside the bank of pumps at the service station, and turned off the engine. For several moments, they sat in silence and gazed at the abandoned establishments.

"Wow, this place has been vacant for _years_!" Laurel exclaimed, breaking the silence with such abruptness that Larry felt his body flinch in response to it. "Look at those old pumps! I haven't seen pumps like that in more than ten years! Look, there isn't even a credit card slot."

"It's like stepping into the past, isn't it? The ravages of time have not been kind to this place." He opened the car door and got out. Laurel did the same on the other side. "Charles?" Larry called. "Charles, are you here?"

When there was no answer, he leaned back inside the vehicle and pressed the car horn. The sound it made was loud beneath the awning, yet it seemed to dissipate quickly, carried away by the heat and the breeze, and as it faded, it was replaced by the light wind whispering in the rafters.

Larry nervously dragged his fingers through his hair and turned slowly in a circle, waiting for the expected reply from his friend. After several long moments, his heart sank with the reality that Charlie was not present. "He's not here. If he was close enough to hear it, he would have responded. This is not good." Reaching into the car again, he retrieved the cell phone from the seat and called the FBI agent again.

Don must have had the phone waiting on the desk top, anticipating the call, for his response was instant. "Eppes."

"Don, I'm at the _Oasis_ now. Charles is not here, and we didn't see any sign of him or the bicycle on the way up here."

"Damn it," Don muttered, more to himself than the professor. "I was hoping that if he had an accident of some kind that he would have hiked back to the _Oasis_ to wait for someone to pick him up."

"Unless he was too far out, in which case he would have started walking toward the _Traveler's Stop_," Larry added. "Or else found a shady spot at the side of the road and waited for us to come get him. In any case, we should have come across him on the road. Do you think someone might have picked him up?"

"I have no idea, but I can't rule out that possibility. Have you seen much traffic on that highway?"

"Not a single vehicle."

Don sighed. Leaning his elbows on his desk, he drummed his fingertips on the desktop, trying to think of what the next step should be, especially in regard to the growing darkness. "How much light do you have out there?"

"The sun's almost gone. We have ten, maybe fifteen minutes of sunlight left."

"That isn't anywhere near enough time to get a search team in place before dark. I think you should start heading back this way."

"Don't' you think we should search the area?" Larry asked, watching as Laurel walked away from the service station and was looking around, shading her eyes against the setting sun in the west. He could hear her calling Charlie's name.

"It's almost dark," Don said in response to Larry's question. "Searching a large area of the desert is difficult enough during the day, but it's impossible at night. You would only get yourself lost. We'll head out early in the morning."

Larry hesitated. "That means he'll have to spend the night out here. Alone."

Don grimaced at the very thought of his younger brother spending the night in the hostile environment, particularly on the chance that he might be injured. "I don't know what else we can do. He's my brother and I'm as worried about him as you are, but I can't risk someone falling off a cliff or down a ravine that they couldn't see because of the dark. I'll start getting a search party organized, but it'll take time."

Larry was forced to concede that the FBI agent was right. He squirmed uncomfortably in his concern for his friend and colleague. "You're right. I just feel so helpless."

"I know," Don agreed. "So do I."

Larry hesitated briefly, reluctant to even speak the words, but knew that they needed to be said, "Don, what if he had an accident? Maybe someone happened by and struck him, or maybe they came across him hurt. They might have taken him to the hospital. It would explain why he hasn't phoned. The phone might have been damaged or lost."

"I was thinking the same thing, but didn't want to say it," Don admitted. "I'll notify the local police departments to be on the lookout for him and check with the area hospitals. Just in case. If he's not at any of them, we'll head out at daylight."

"All right. We'll start heading back. And if you find out anything, please let me know."

"I will," Don promised.

Larry hung up the phone and placed it on the seat of the car. With a sigh of despair, he glanced at the western horizon, willing the sun to stay in place a while longer, long enough to conduct a search of the immediate area. Ignoring his silent pleas, the sun continued its downward drift.

Leaving the car, he walked toward Laurel, joining her at the top of a sloping rise of ground. From there, they could see a great distance, but there was no sign of the missing mathematician.

"Don thinks we should head back," he told her. "There's nothing we can do after dark. He's putting together a search party, and they'll head out at first light."

Somberly, they walked back to the car, and after one final visual inspection of the abandoned rest stop, Larry drove the car back toward Los Angeles.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

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**Five**

"How much farther?" Erica asked when they stopped to rest again.

She had been very brave, struggling to keep up with his longer stride, but Charlie knew she was getting very tired, as indicated by the slight whine to her voice. The sun had slipped over the western horizon, leaving only a faint yellow glow in its wake. Behind it, the long blanket of darkness stretched across the landscape, chasing away the last remnants of daylight. Soon, it would be dark. Spending the night in the desert with an escaped convict on the loose was more of an adventure than he had bargained for.

"I'm not sure," he said in response to her question.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" she asked.

"_That_ I'm sure of."

She watched him curiously as he observed the sky, her face smudged and tired. She did not understand his explanations about how he was plotting their route through the desert, but he seemed confident that they were going the right direction, and his confidence made her feel more secure. "I'm awful tired," she said, her voice small.

"So am I," he replied, distractedly, his eyes studying the heavens. Twilight was a difficult time of day for navigating. The sun was gone, and the stars were not yet out. He had hoped to be at the _Oasis_ by now, but the uneven terrain and exhaustion were slowing down their progress.

As he had done many times, Charlie glanced behind him to make certain they were not being followed, scanning the desert for signs of danger lurking nearby. In the dusky shadows of the uneven terrain, there were many bushes, rocks, and other natural geographic features, but this time he was startled by something that moved slightly. Gazing at it intently, he saw that it was an upright figure, and as he watched, it reached up with an arm to scratch its head as it, too, examined the topography in search of something.

Reacting quickly, Charlie wrapped one arm Erica's waist and placed his other hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out as he took her to the ground with him, trying to ignore the stab of pain that jarred his sore shoulder. Sure enough, he felt the exhale of air against the palm of his hand and the muffled sound of her scream as they landed on the hard ground. Her eyes were wide with alarm as she stared up at him.

"Shh," he said, quickly, his urgent expression telling her more than words ever could. He removed his hand. "Sorry I was so rough," he apologized in a whisper. "There wasn't time to explain, and I was afraid you might scream when I pulled you down. There's someone out there."

Realizing that he was not assaulting her, her body began to relax and she nodded her understanding. "Is it him?" she whispered.

Cautiously, Charlie rose up on his elbows, peering over the uneven terrain. In the distance and the fading light, it was difficult to see the face of the man who stood there, but his bulk left no doubt in Charlie's mind that it was Jessup. He was turned slightly away from the mathematician, his hands on his hips as he scanned the desert with his eyes, searching for indication that his prey was nearby. Charlie shrank back down, his heartbeat quickening. Jessup had obviously been serious in his threat to hunt him down and kill him.

"Yeah, it's him."

Erica's breathing accelerated to panic pitch, and her eyes were wide with terror. "How did he find us?" she whispered.

"He hasn't found us, yet. Don't move and don't make a sound," the mathematician told her.

Carefully, he rose up again and watched as the convict reached up to scratch his dirty salt and pepper hair again. Charlie could only wonder what kind of parasites his fingers were chasing around his scalp; probably lice, he decided. Jessup scanned the desert in all directions, turning a slow circle, but in the dusk he failed to notice the young man who watched from the slight dip in the desert terrain. After a moment of indecision, he began walking again, moving away from them.

"All right, he's going away. Keep low."

Together, they got up off the ground and, stooping forward in an attempt to make themselves less conspicuous, they began moving once again in the direction of the rest stop.

Darkness quickly overtook them, and the stars came out, winking and twinkling overhead. Guided by the constellations, Charlie continued to navigate their path toward the rest stop. Larry, in his infinite interest in space, would have done a better job of it, Charlie knew, but he was familiar enough with it that he was confident of their direction.

Forty minutes later, to his great relief, they came up over a low rise of ground and saw the dark shapes of the abandoned buildings below them.

His heart lifted at the sight of them and his first instinct was to move quickly toward them, to get out of the open where Jessup might stumble upon them, but a sense of caution was holding him back. His status as an FBI consultant had taught him that prudence must be applied to certain circumstances, and this was one of them. He had no idea where Doyle Jessup was at that moment, and that warranted an attentive look around. He came to a stop at the top of the rise.

"There it is!" Erica exclaimed, suitably impressed with her rescuer's capabilities. "You were right!" She immediately started down the slope toward them, but Charlie's hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder to stop her. She turned to look questioningly into his face.

"It might not be safe," he explained.

He squatted down to make himself less conspicuous against the skyline, and tugged on her arm, encouraging her to do the same. When she complied, he turned his attention to the group of buildings, studying them intently. Darkness had thrown its cloak over the desert, but the moon was up, casting a silvery glow that permitted him just enough visibility to see the structures with moderate clarity. Although he had no idea what signs he should be looking for, he began studying the buildings.

First, he examined the restaurant, the farthest building from his position, squinting into the shadows beneath the awning where he had rested earlier that day, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sliding his gaze across the empty parking lot to the nearer building, he focused on the service station. Like the restaurant, it was quiet with no sign of movement, but as his eyes moved toward the antique pumps, something attracted his rapt attention; something that he knew with absolute certainty had not been there when he had stopped for lunch.

Erica heard his sudden intake of air. "What's wrong?"

"There's a car down there beside the gas pumps, under the awning."

Although he could not see her features in the darkness, he could sense the hope that must have brightened her face. Eagerly, she looked at the vehicle, and could just make out the front bumper and headlights that stuck out from the edge of the building. "Maybe it's someone looking for us!"

"It's someone looking for us, all right, but I have a bad feeling it isn't someone we want to find us," he replied, grimly. "I had assumed that Jessup had followed us on foot, but that isn't what happened. He knew we were moving toward this rest stop, so he drove here, parked the car, and went out looking for us. Undoubtedly, he thought he would intercept us before we got here. Does that look like his car?"

She squinted through the darkness, but all she could make out was the dark shape. "It's too dark. I can't tell. Maybe."

Nervously, his knee bounced up and down as he pondered their options. He rubbed his open hand across his mouth, then dragged his fingers through his hair as he tried to decide what to do. He was not an FBI agent; he was not trained how to react to situations like this one, but he knew they could not just walk down their blindly and risk encountering the prison escapee. Jessup might have returned by now and could be lying in wait for them. Or, he might still be out in the desert looking for them. Yet another possibility, however remote the chances were, the car could belong to someone looking for the girl.

"Tell me a little bit about the car he was driving. What does it look like?"

"Well, it's kind of reddish purple."

"Two door, or four door?"

She thought for a moment. "Two, I think. I was so scared . . . "

"I know." Standing up again, he took her hand, and led her back down the bluff the way they had come. Finding a sizeable creosote bush, he said, "I want you to hide under this bush and stay here until I come back for you, okay?"

"What are you going to do?" she asked in a panicky voice, terrified of the prospect of being left alone in the desert. "You're not going to leave me!"

"I'm not going to leave you. I'm just going to go down and have a look at that car, and it'll be better if you stay here. I'm hoping maybe he left the keys in it. If he did, it'll be our ride out of here. And if it isn't the reddish purple car you described, then I'll know it's someone else, someone who might help us."

"Be careful!" she pleased.

"I'll be careful," he promised. Gently, he pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, drawing a smile from her. "Now, you hide under this bush."

Obediently, she crawled beneath the bush, and lay very still.

"This may take a while, so I want you to stay here, okay? Don't make a sound. When it's safe, I'll come back and get you."

"Okay."

Leaving her there, he climbed the bluff again and squatted down to observe the rest stop once more. It was as still and quiet as it had been before, with no sign of movement. Turning his head, he scanned the desert with his eyes, taking note of every bush, every rock, searching for the figure of a man who would do him great harm.

Satisfied that it was safe to do so, Charlie slowly and carefully picked his way down the gentle slope and walked toward the service station, keeping a wary eye on the desert all around him.

When he reached the stone wall of the station, he crept along the side of the building until he reached the front. Pausing there, he peered around the corner at the vehicle that waited beneath the canopy. It was parked in the space between the boarded up door and the nearest bank of pumps. It was very dark in the shadows beneath the awning, but he was almost certain that it was a burgundy two door sedan, just as the girl had described. Inching forward, he looked cautiously down the concrete drive. Jessup was nowhere in sight. All he had to do was cross several yards of open space to reach the vehicle.

A panicky feeling was gripping his heart tightly, and he pressed against the wall, trying to fight it. _I'm not cut out for this cloak and dagger stuff_, he thought as his chest rose and fell rapidly with his labored breathing. The car was so near, now. All he had to do was take five or six steps and he would be beside it.

_Okay, I can do this._ Closing his eyes again, he concentrated on steadying his breathing, forcing himself to calm down. When his eyes opened again, he felt only marginally better. _There is no one else to do this,_ he reminded himself. _You are on your own!_

Charlie cast another wary perusal in the direction in which he had seen the convict nearly an hour earlier, then mustered the courage to push himself away from the wall and approach the vehicle.

Directly above his head, something asked, "Wh-who?"

Charlie nearly leaped into orbit. Spinning around quickly, he looked up and saw an owl perched on the edge of the awning, watching him with its large round eyes. It was a big, beautiful bird, and it blinked and hooted again.

He gave a shaky laugh at his own jumpiness, and his hand was placed over his heart to steady it.

The owl moved its head from side to side, observing the human with curiosity, then it ruffled its feathers and turned its attention elsewhere.

Calming himself once again, Charlie crossed the remaining distance to the vehicle. Pressing his nose against the passenger side window, he squinted through the darkness inside the car, but it was impossible to determine if the keys were in the ignition. His hand grasped the door handle, but lingered there for a moment, realizing that if he opened it, the overhead light would come on, and if Jessup was near enough, he might see it.

Concealed in the shadows beneath the awning, he glanced toward the open desert again, and finally made the decision. Gripping the door handle, he pulled on it.

Locked.

He exhaled sharply as he shifted his gaze to the driver's door, trying to determine if the lock button was up or down, but in the dark, he was unable to see it. Quickly, he walked behind the car and approached the driver's side door, but just as he reached for the door handle, he glanced toward the desert again and saw a dark shape walking along the road toward the station.

Charlie instantly crouched down beside the vehicle, hoping the darkness beneath the awning was enough to conceal him from the criminal. His pulse accelerated again as he watched the solitary figure walking toward him.

He figured he had two choices: Open the car door on the chance that the keys were in the ignition, or back away. The odds were fifty-fifty that the keys were there; either they were or they were not. If they were there, he could start the car and drive away before Jessup was close enough to do anything about it. If they were not there, the overhead light would betray his presence. Indecisively, his hand crept toward the door handle.

_Fifty-fifty._

Charlie's gaze went from the door handle to the desert again. Jessup was getting nearer, and in the moonlight he could see the man's head turning from side to side, still scanning the dark landscape. Jessup was near enough that he would not only see the overhead light, he would probably hear the car door open as well.

_Fifty-fifty._

While he delayed, Jessup was continuing to advance. He was getting close; dangerously close; close enough that Charlie could see the club that he still carried in one hand. _Make a decision!_ he thought to himself.

Finally, he pulled his hand away from the door handle and, remaining in a crouched position, he skirted the rear of the car and squatted down behind the trunk, wondering if he would be seen if he darted for the safety of the wall. Rising up, he looked over the trunk to check Jessup's progress, and found that he was alarmingly close now.

Nervous sweat popped out on his brow and dampened his palms as he turned his head to look at the corner of the wall farthest from the criminal. If he made a dash for that corner, would Jessup see the movement? Facing the convict again, he silently willed the man to turn around, thus providing him with a few moments of relative safety to run for the corner.

After a long tense moment, during which Jessup was getting closer and closer, the owl hooted again, and Charlie felt a tremendous amount of satisfaction when he saw the convict's body jump on startled reflex. He staggered several paces backward, nearly falling to the ground as he looked up quickly to see what had made the noise. Spying the owl there, he raised the club in a threatening gesture. "Get outta here!" he said, gruffly.

The owl apparently decided to seek a more accommodating perch elsewhere. It took flight, passing so close to Jessup that the convict actually ducked to avoid the beating wings, then he turned to watch it as it disappeared into the night.

Using the moment to his advantage, Charlie shoved himself away from the car and dodged around the corner of the building.

With his heart hammering wildly again, he peered around the edge of the stone wall. Still looking around, Jessup slid his hand into the front pocket of his grimy trousers and withdrew the keys to the car. They had not been in the ignition, and Charlie felt an inner trembling with the realization of what would have happened had he opened the car door. Jessup would probably be chasing him across the parking lot at that very moment.

Unaware that his prey was only a few yards away, Jessup opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat. Inserting the key in the ignition, he turned it and the engine cranked over with a roar and a puff of smoke from the exhaust pipe. Charlie saw the brake lights come on, and shrank back behind the corner as Jessup applied a little pressure on the foot-feed and revved the engine. Then he shifted into drive, but instead of pulling out onto the highway, Charlie heard the car move around the other side of the building.

The math prodigy remained pressed against the wall, listening intently as the car eased slowly around the building, and finally came to a stop behind the rear wall. He understood instantly that Jessup was concealing the vehicle from any passing traffic that might come down the highway during the night, and that he probably intended to sleep inside it.

Charlie sighed, wearily. This was bad news, for it meant that Jessup intended to remain in the area, and that he might even resume the search for them in the morning. It also meant that Don or Larry or anyone who might come searching for him was in potential danger as well.

Well, there was nothing he could do about that tonight. At the moment, he needed to find a safe place for him and Erica to spend the night, and bedding down in the open desert was not appealing.

He glanced over his shoulder at the restaurant building. With a little luck, perhaps he could pry up one of the plywood panels enough that he and the girl could get inside the building. Slowly, he approached the rear corner of the service station. With one eye, he peered around the edge of the building and watched as Jessup climbed over the seat backs into the rear seat and disappeared from view as he lay down.

Charlie waited and watched for several minutes, but the convict did not reappear. Obviously, he intended to sleep in the back seat, which offered considerably more comfort than the math prodigy and the young girl would enjoy that night.

Deeming it safe to move, Charlie pushed away from the corner of the building, and, stepping quietly in his sneakers, he jogged across the parking lot toward the restaurant. When he reached the awning, he pressed against the building and looked back toward the service station. From his position, he could just see the front end of the car from where it sat against the rear of the building, but there was no sign of Jessup.

Turning his attention to the plywood panels that were nailed over the glass windows and doors, Charlie crept along the front of the restaurant, testing for weaknesses in the nails or in the wood itself, working his way along the street-facing wall, then moved around the corner. As with the front of the building, the plywood on the side wall seemed secure until he reached a side entrance near the back corner. Here, one side of the plywood had been released from the nails and bent back easily when he pulled on it. Behind it was the door, which should have been locked against intruders, but curiously the knob felt loose when he placed his hand on it. Obviously, someone had pried the door open at some point over the past few years. This was not too unexpected. Vagrants and transients often found a way inside abandoned buildings, and this one was no different. He just hoped there was no one inside who might resent his presence!

As with most exits, the door opened outward, and he pulled it as far open as it would go. It strained against the plywood panel that had been pulled loose but he was careful not to force it too far, for he did not want to pull the plywood completely off. Opening it just enough for his slender body to slip through, Charlie squeezed into the restaurant.

It was nearly pitch black inside, and he paused just inside the door to allow his eyes to become adjusted to the darker interior. He sensed, rather than saw, that he was standing in an entryway, but as his vision gradually became acclimated to the darkness, he began to see the slight definition of the lighter colored walls against the blackness of the opening that was just ahead of him. No doubt, this was the service entrance, where incoming supplies were received.

Placing his hand on the wall, he felt his way along it until he reached what he presumed to be the kitchen. It was open and empty, indicating that the ovens and grills and even the sinks were long gone, but he caught a brief glint of metal from the hookups as he felt his way along the wall. The texture of the wall changed beneath his hands, from plaster to wood, and he knew he had found a closed door. As he reached for a knob, he felt the door give slightly, and realized that it was a swinging door which separated the kitchen from the main restaurant area. He pushed through it.

Visibility was slightly better inside what had once been the dining areas. Thin slivers of moonlight managed to seep through the cracks between the plywood panels, revealing the large open space that had been cleared of the tables, chairs, and booths that had once accommodated hungry travelers. The only furnishing that remained in the room was a long service counter, a permanent fixture which had probably been constructed on-site and ran parallel to the wall, but the stools that had accompanied it had been removed. The far end of the counter had probably held the cash register. During its operational years, he knew that it probably had also displayed packs of cigarettes, candy, and chewing gum. Through the tiled entrance area was another doorway leading into a darkened room, and he presumed that it had probably served as the gift shop.

Charlie turned back to the counter, silently examining it. A space of about seven or eight feet separated it from the wall behind it, and he decided it would be a perfect place for him and Erica to spend the night.

He retraced his steps back to the side entrance, and squeezed through it again. Once outside, he paused briefly to examine the plywood panel, assuring himself that it was still in place, then he crossed the front of the building again and returned to the corner, where he stopped. The service station, Jessup, and the car sat between him and Erica, who waited for him just over the shallow bluff.

Keeping a wary eye on the car, he jogged quietly across the parking area again, and safely reached the front of the service station. Concealed beneath the shadows of the awning, he moved quickly to the other side, noticing as he did that there was no sign of a pay phone anywhere along the front of the building. When he reached the other corner, he peered cautiously around it. He could see neither Jessup not the vehicle from this angle, so he crept along the side wall until he reached the corner nearest the car.

Leaning his head around the corner, he focused an intense gaze on the rear of the vehicle, hoping that Jessup was still lying in the back seat. The windows were down, apparently to let in the breeze in an attempt to cool the interior of the car, and through the open windows he could hear Jessup snoring loudly.

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief; he was safe for the moment.

Pushing away from the building, he jogged up the bluff and over the crest, returning to the place where he had left the girl.

"Erica?" he asked, quietly.

"Charlie?" She crawled from beneath the bush and moved toward him. "You were gone an awful long time," she said.

He heard the tears in her voice. "There, I told you I would come back, didn't I?" he asked, gently.

"Yes, but it was scary out here all by myself. I was afraid that man might've found you."

"No. He's snoring like a buzz-saw in the back of his car. He's pulled it behind the service station, and apparently plans to sleep there all night."

"What about us? Where are we going to sleep?"

"Well, we can't go stumbling around the desert in the dark looking for shelter, so I think the best thing for us to do is to spend the night inside the restaurant. I found a way in, and we should be safe there. We're going to have to be very, very quiet. No talking, okay?"

"Okay."

Taking her hand, Charlie led the way back down the bluff toward the front of the building, keeping it between them and the car to minimize their chances of being seen. Then they hurried across the parking lot, and he escorted her around the building to the service entrance.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter One

**A/N:** We have seen Alan inside Don's office before, but I'm not sure if it has ever been specified whether or not he has a visitor's pass or whether his son escorts him up. For this story, assume that he has a pass and that security knows him, because I wanted to get him into Don's office unannounced.

* * *

**Six**

"All right. Thank you very much," Don said into the telephone. Replacing it on its cradle, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his weary eyes with his fingers. "Nothing," he announced. "He's not at any of the area hospitals." There was relief in his voice that Charlie was not lying injured in one of the hospitals, but also a note of disappointment that his brother had not been found.

Still looking crisp and fresh in his dark suit and tie, David glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands had moved past twelve-thirty, and were slowly making their way toward one o'clock. They had been hard at work for hours, calling all the hospitals, morgues, and precincts in and around the Los Angeles area, inquiring about accident victims. It was unknown if Charlie was carrying any identification on him, so they covered all angles, including unidentified patients or victims in their investigation, but always the answer was negative. No one matching Charlie's description had been found.

Turning his attention back to his partner, David watched as Don closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingertips, as if nursing a headache. The special agent had long since shed his suit coat and opened his collar, and his crumpled shirt added to his haggard appearance. "Don, you're exhausted. Why don't you try to get some rest? I'll wake you if anything turns up."

Don looked up, his fingers pausing against his temples, and stared at him as if he was out of his mind for even suggesting such a thing, yet he understood that David was concerned about him. He was very tired, his head was throbbing, his eyes felt like fried eggs, and he knew he probably looked like something the cat had dragged in, but he knew that sleep would be impossible to achieve, so he shook his head as he opened his desk drawer and removed the bottle of aspirin that he kept there. "My brother is missing, and may be hurt. There is no way I could rest until I know he's okay." He popped two white tablets in his mouth and washed it down with a glass of water.

David nodded his understanding. "I've checked the area police departments that might have been notified of an accident, and they have no information to give us either," he said. "No one, civilian or otherwise, has reported an accident of any kind on or near Highway 13."

"I didn't expect there would be. Dad insists that no one travels that highway anymore, so the chances of him being struck by another vehicle or someone happening by and finding him are pretty remote." Leaning back in his chair, Don's eyes drifted to the map of Southern California that he had pinned to the bulletin board, taking particular notice of the huge expanse of the Mojave Desert. "No, he's out there, somewhere." After a long moment, he glanced appreciatively at his partner. "I appreciate you sticking around, David. It would have taken me all night to get through all these phone numbers by myself."

David shrugged and waved away the comment. "Hey, I wouldn't be anywhere else. I'm glad to help. So where do we go from here? I'm fresh out of ideas."

Don shook his head slowly, his eyes still fixed on the map. After a few moments, he rose from his chair and went to the map and inserted a push-pin to mark the location of the_ Desert Oasis. _"Okay, we know he made it this far," he mused, speaking as much to himself as to his partner. Another push-pin was inserted at the location of the_ Traveler's Stop_. "And this is where he was supposed to meet Larry, but never made it. Something happened between these two points; something that prevented him from calling for help; something that apparently disabled his cell phone."

"You're still thinking an accident of some kind," David guessed.

"It's the only thing that makes any sense. Something must have happened with the bike. It might have broken down, or maybe an animal ran across the road and caused him to lose control of it, or any number of other mishaps. Traveling at a high rate of speed, it could have been a pretty serious accident. The phone may have been dropped or crushed, rendering it unusable and thereby preventing him from calling for help."

"Which brings us back to the same question; where is he? And why didn't Larry find him or the bike on the road?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" Don asked. Trying to solve the mystery, his eyes continued to study the map, following the thin gray line that represented Highway 13. "If he was not incapacitated, he might have tried to walk. But which direction?"

"Well, the _Oasis_ is closed, so he couldn't expect to find help there. Most likely he would go toward the _Traveler's Stop_," David suggested.

"Not necessarily," Don said, slowly, his brow furrowed with concentration. "The sun is pretty hot out in the desert. If he was reasonably close to the _Oasis_, he might have backtracked to find shade, knowing that someone would eventually come along looking for him." He slowly traced the highway with his forefinger, starting at the _Traveler's Stop_ and working his way back toward the _Oasis_. Noticing how the road made a long, gradual curve, a scenario began to form in his mind, so strong and so abrupt that David actually saw the brightness that flickered in his eyes, driving away the weariness with sudden alertness. "He cut across country!" he said, abruptly. "Of course! That's how Larry missed him! He wasn't on the road."

David moved closer for a better look at the map. "He wouldn't leave the road, would he?"

"I think he might. See here? How the highway curves back toward the _Oasis_? By cutting across country, it looks like he could have shaved at least a mile and a half off the walk. He would have known that, and in the sun and the heat, I think he would have utilized that to shorten his walk."

"So, do you think he wandered out into the desert and got lost?"

"Not if he was fully functional. I'm learning never to underestimate my brother. To him, everything is math, and that includes finding direction. Once, when we were kids, I went hiking with some of my friends. We didn't find out until we were well under way that Charlie had followed and was tagging along behind us. To make a long story short, we ended up getting lost. It was Charlie who found the way back. He was something like eight years old at the time, and it was one of the first times I started to respect his abilities."

David was smiling, enjoying the story. "He's really something, isn't he?"

"Yeah. That he is. I asked him later how he did it, and he told me he was charting the sun's path in his mind, but he wasn't boasting about it; he just stated it like it was the most natural fact in the world, like anyone would think to do it." He turned back to the map, resting his forearm against the wall beside it. "No, the only way he would get lost would be if he was disoriented from the accident or ---"

"Accident? What accident?" Alan Eppes asked from the door to Don's office.

Both agents turned around, surprised to see the senior Eppes standing there, his visitor's pass clipped to his shirt pocket. He was staring at them with wide eyes, his hair standing wildly on end as if he had run his fingers through it repeatedly from worry.

Don glanced at his watch, taking quick note of the time. "Dad, it's nearly one o'clock. You didn't need to come down here."

"What's this about an accident?" Alan asked, ignoring the question as he stepped into the office. "Have you found something out? Did Charlie have an accident?"

"We're not sure," Don replied. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" Alan challenged. "Did you really think I could sit at home doing nothing when my son is out there somewhere? When I called your apartment, I got no answer, so I knew you would be here. Why didn't you call me? What have you found out?"

"We haven't found out much, I'm afraid," David told him. "We've been calling all the area hospitals and other facilities to see if someone matching Charlie's description was brought in, but that turned out to be a dead end."

"I told Don repeatedly that no one travels that road!" Alan retorted. "I would have been surprised if someone _had_ found him and brought him in."

"Well, apparently you were right about that," Don agreed. "Larry didn't see a single vehicle on that road when he went looking for him. I think he's still out there in the desert."

"Alone," Alan added, a frightened expression in his eyes.

"Dad, don't torture yourself. I'm sure Charlie's fine. My best guess is that he had an accident of some kind, probably right in this area here," he said, pointing to the location on the map just before the road began its curve. "It most likely disabled his phone."

Alan withdrew his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and held them up to his eyes to study the position on the map that Don had indicated. "What are you basing this assumption on?" he asked. "Larry found no sign of him."

"I know. I have no conclusive evidence to back up my theory. All I have are logic and deduction and a rather rudimentary knowledge of the way his mind works. He called you from the Oasis, saying that he was getting ready to start out again, so we know that whatever happened, happened somewhere between the _Oasis_ and the _Traveler's Stop_."

Alan nodded in agreement. "Okay."

"If he broke down close to the _Traveler's Stop_, he probably would have started walking toward it or stayed where he was, knowing that Larry would start looking for him when he was late. I'm thinking he broke down closer to the _Oasis_."

Alan shrugged. "He still would have known that someone would be out to pick him up."

"Yes, but it would have been earlier in the afternoon. And it would have been _hours_ before anyone would have realized that he was missing. Would you want to sit in the hot sun for four or five hours waiting for help to arrive? I think Charlie decided to walk back to the _Oasis_. The buildings would provide adequate shade while he waited for someone to come and get him. If he wasn't too far along on the trip, it would definitely have made the walk back worth his time. See how the road curves toward the _Oasis_? I think he probably cut across country to trim his walking distance. That would explain why Larry didn't see him on the road."

Alan continued to scrutinize the map with a worried frown, and after a long moment, he nodded his head, accepting the probability of the speculation. "There is a lot of wilderness there." Lowering the glasses, he looked directly into Don's face. "You know, he was getting low on water when he called me at noon."

Don grimaced, clearly caught off guard with this new revelation. "I was unaware of that. How much did he have with him?"

"He took only one bottle. He intended to buy another one at the _Oasis_ when he stopped for lunch, but he wasn't counting on it being out of business." Noticing the solemn concern that had appeared on Don's face, he added, "There! Now you see why I'm so worried? If he did cut across country, how are we going to find him? I just feel so damn helpless!"

There was a note of panic in Alan's voice, and Don attempted to calm him by placing both hands on his father's shoulders. "Dad, Charlie's smart. If he's been using the water sparingly, he may be okay for a while yet. At first light we'll head out to the _Oasis_ and start searching the area. If he was making his way toward it, there is a possibility that he will have reached it by now, and might even be waiting for us."

"And if he's not?"

"If he's not, I'll have a chopper scour the area between the rest stop and the convenience store for any sign of him."

"Donny, what if he's hurt? In the desert, people die of dehydration. It will be worse if he's hurt. He may not be thinking clearly. It's only been a year . . ." His voice trailed, then he added. "I can't lose one of my sons, too."

Don's grip on his father's shoulders tightened. "We're going to find him, Dad. I promise; we'll find him."

Alan returned his glasses to his pocket and looked at his older son through fearful eyes, wondering what condition they would find Charlie in.

xxxxxx

Charlie lay quietly on his side on the cool linoleum floor of the abandoned restaurant, his arm folded beneath his head to form a pillow. It was not the most comfortable position. His arm was going numb from the weight of his head resting on it, and the floor was very hard against his shoulder and hip. Shifting position, he rolled over onto his back, seeking a more tolerable arrangement of his body, but that was not much better. The hard floor was not comfortable to the contusion on his hip. Finally, he reached the conclusion that linoleum was just too hard to sleep on, so, with a soft sigh, he sat up and leaned his back against the counter. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he rested his hands lightly on his abdomen. Sitting was only a slight improvement from lying down, but at least they were safe for the moment, and the temperatures were cooling down a bit, providing them with welcomed relief from the heat.

In the darkness of the building's interior, he could see Erica's motionless form lying on the floor beside the wall, but he was unable to determine if she was sleeping or not. He hoped she was. The poor child had survived a harrowing day and was clearly exhausted, as was he, but he had found himself unable to relax. His stomach was a hollow void that gnawed hungrily, demanding to be filled. He had eaten nothing substantial since breakfast, and he had eaten sparingly then, eager to be on the road. His mouth felt uncomfortably dry. And he was worried about what the coming dawn would bring.

Doyle Jessup was sleeping just across the parking lot from him and the girl, a disturbing thought now that he had taken the time to consider the ramifications of his decision to spend the night inside the building. The alternative was equally troubling: stumbling around in the desert in the middle of the night could have proven extremely dangerous, for it was not only the rough terrain that had concerned him, but snakes and scorpions as well as other creatures resided in the harsh environment. Plus, he knew that Don would probably begin his search for him at this rest stop come morning, for their father would have told him that he had made it this far. He could only hope that Jessup either failed to search the restaurant, or that Don would arrive early. Very early.

After a long time, he saw a movement on the floor as Erica lifted her head. He could feel her peering through the darkness at him. "Are you asleep?" she asked, timidly.

"No. The floor is too hard, and my mind won't settle down enough to relax," he replied.

"Mine either. And I'm awful thirsty. Do you think there might be a water fountain or a water faucet here?"

Both of them were starting to feel the early symptoms of dehydration, but unfortunately he knew there was nothing to be done about it. "I wish there was, but this place has been closed for years. They would have turned off the water a long time ago. Don will probably bring some when he comes looking for me. Think you can hold out a few more hours?"

She sighed with disappointment. "I guess." Moving slowly with fatigue, she pushed herself into a seated position, and pressed her back against the wall, facing him. "Mom and Dad are probably worried about me."

"I imagine they are," he agreed. "Try not to think about that. Just think about how happy they will be when we finally get you back home."

"What if nobody comes?" she asked, fearfully. "They don't know where to look for us! I don't really even know where we are, but I know we're a long way from San Bernadino! What happens if they don't come?"

"My brother knows where to look for me," Charlie told her. "I was riding my bike down this highway, training for a race that's coming up at the university. Remember, I told you that Don is an FBI agent, and he knew I would be on this road. They were probably looking for us earlier this evening, when I didn't show up for my ride home, but they would have had to call off the search because of darkness. They'll be back in the morning, I promise."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No, I'm not just saying that. Don will come." There was conviction in his voice when he added, "He'll come."

In the thin, silvery stripes of moonlight that managed to penetrate the cracks in the plywood that covered the windows and doors, he saw her nod her head, accepting his promise of rescue.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked. "If you do, I bet they'll be glad to see you, too."

"No he won't. I have a brother, but we hate each other. He'd probably be happy if I never came home."

Charlie laughed, softly. "Believe me, he cares more about you than you realize."

"I'll believe that when I see it. Are you married?"

"No, no. I'm not married."

"How come?"

Charlie chuckled softly. "My dad wants to know the answer to that as well, and I don't really have an answer. I just haven't really found the time for dating, much. Plus, I'm a bit . . . how would you put it? I guess you could say I'm a bit eccentric."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm different, not like other people. I get so involved in what I'm doing that I don't even know when other people are around. Someone can be talking to me, and I won't even hear them; won't even know they're there. Girls don't seem to like it because they think I'm ignoring them. It's hard to explain, but I just get so deep in what I'm doing that I somehow manage to shut out everything else."

"I do that sometimes, too. Charlie?"

"Hm?"

"That man out there. You've said his name a few times. Do you know him?"

"Not personally, no; but I know who he is. I consult with the FBI, sometimes. You know, help them solve crimes in which I can apply certain mathematical equations. Anyway, I saw his case file on Don's desk. His name is Doyle Jessup, and he's a prison escapee."

"What was he put in jail for?"

He hesitated, reluctant to divulge the severity of Jessup's crimes to a girl who had almost been his fourth victim. "Well, he attacked and kidnapped several young girls."

Erica seemed to realize that there was more to the story than he was saying. There was a long moment of silent before she asked, "Did he kill them?"

Charlie gazed at her silhouette through the darkness. It was not his wish to upset her, but he did not believe in answering a question with a lie. The truth could be toned down just a bit, in order to cushion the severity of it. Withholding the fact that he had brutally beaten every one of his victims, he said, "One of them died later of injuries he inflicted on her. He was tried and convicted of her murder."

"He would have killed me too," she said with certainty. "I know he would've."

"How did he get you?" he asked, curiously.

"I was at a slumber party at a friend's house, and I was walking home the next morning. It was only a couple of blocks away, and I walk to her house all the time. I was cutting through the park when he grabbed me. I kinda saw his car as I walked past it, but I didn't really pay any attention to it. People go to the park to jog and walk their dogs, so I didn't think he was someone who was going to hurt me. He came up behind me and put something over my head, like a sack made out of cloth, and he tied me up and put me in the trunk."

"No one saw this? No one heard you screaming?"

"I don't know if anyone else was in the park. I guess I wasn't paying enough attention. Mom always tells me to keep my eyes and ears open when I'm by myself, but sometimes I think about other things."

"I know all about that," he said, knowingly. "So, what happened then?"

"He drove a long way before he finally stopped. By then I had managed to untie the ropes and pull the sack off my head, so when he opened the trunk, I threw the sack over his face, jumped out of the trunk, and ran. I had no idea where I was; I just knew I had to get away from him, but I could hear him chasing me." Her voice broke, remembering the terror hearing his heavy footfalls running behind her. "He caught me in that ditch thing, and started dragging me back to the car."

"That's when I came on the scene," he concluded.

He could hear her gasping as she tried to stifle the need to cry. "I was so scared!"

He knew she was about to break down, and although he felt a little helpless with the prospect of comforting a weeping girl, he was the only one there to offer reassurance. He slid across the floor to her, and took her into his arms. "Hey, I saw how you fought him. I thought you were very brave the way you were hitting and kicking him."

As his arms went around her slender body, she buried her face against his chest and began to cry. "I want to go home!" she wept, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"I know you do. So do I." She clung to the front of his shirt with her fist, and he cuddled her against him, resting his cheek on top of her head as her body shook with her sobs. He didn't know any other way to comfort her. "Hey, it'll be okay," he assured her. "I'm sure we'll get you home in the morning."

"He's still out there, just across the parking lot!" she sobbed, her voice muffled against the fabric of his tee shirt. "What if he finds us?"

Charlie did not want to even think about that possibility. He could only hope that come dawn, Doyle Jessup would drive on down the road and never look back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

* * *

**Seven**

For Alan Eppes, the time had never crawled by more slowly. Frequently, his eyes strayed to his watch or to the clock on the wall, discouraged by the snail's pace at which the hands ticked around the face. His mind was constantly on his younger son, praying silently for his safety.

Regardless of the hour, there were agents milling about, using fax machines, telephones, copy machines, comparing notes on various crimes. Don and David continued to discuss the plans they intended to put into motion as soon as it was light enough to see. Alan had briefly wandered down to the snack room for coffee, and had reluctantly accepted a doughnut offered by a sympathetic agent who was aware of the situation. He now sat quietly but restlessly at the edge of Don's desk, drumming his fingers on the desktop, sipping the cup of coffee, and ignoring the doughnut for which he had no appetite.

A harsh buzzing sound on the desk startled him out of his thoughts, and his body flinched at the abruptness of it. Don snatched up the telephone before it could buzz again.

"Eppes." He listened for a moment, then said, "Excellent. Tell him we'll be right down." He slammed the receiver back on the hook and stood up. "That was the receptionist down in the lobby. The paramedic has arrived."

Following his son's lead, Alan rose slowly from his chair, but the word jolted into his mind. "Paramedic?"

David spoke up. "Yes. I have a friend who's a paramedic; Wade Gordon. I gave him a call while you were getting your coffee and doughnut. He's agreed to go out with us in case Charlie needs some medical attention."

"And don't forget, there's a chopper standing by if we need it," Don added. He reached for his suit coat, then changed his mind. It would be hot in the desert, so he began rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Alan's expression was one of gratitude as he gazed fondly at his son and his son's partner. "You two have thought of everything, haven't you?"

"Well, we hope we have," Don said. He turned over his wrist to glance at his watch for perhaps the one hundredth time during the night. It was nearly four thirty. "Okay, let's roll. We'll start seeing some daylight soon, and with any luck we'll be at the _Oasis_ soon after sunrise." He turned to his father. "Dad, why don't you go on home? I'll call you when we find out something."

"No! No way!" Alan objected, visibly annoyed that Don would even suggest such a thing. "I'm going with you!"

Don sighed, heavily. If Charlie's condition was poor when they found him, he would rather that their father was not there to see it. "Dad, for once please do as I ask."

"No! I know you're trying to protect me, but I won't stay behind! This is not one of your FBI cases! This is my son, your brother. I brought my own car, and if you refuse to let me ride with you, I'll just follow you. Don't think I won't do it! That's my boy out there! I'm going, whether you like it or not!"

Don knew he would do it too, and nothing short of placing him under arrest would keep him from joining the search. He glanced at David, who lifted his eyebrows and shrugged, determined to stay out of the discussion. Finally, he relented. "All right. Let's go."

Don, David, and Alan took the elevator down to the lobby where David approached a man who was dressed in black slacks and a short sleeved blue shirt, and carried a sizeable kit with a medical emblem embossed on it. The two men shook hands, and David said, "Wade, this is Special Agent Don Eppes and his father Alan Eppes."

Wade extended his hand toward each in turn. "Pleased to meet you." He hefted the medkit. "You mentioned that the patient might have gone an extended time without water, so I brought along drinking water as well as other supplies that might be useful."

"Great," Don said. "Man, I really appreciate this. We've been worried about what condition he might be in when we find him. We know he had some water with him when he started out, but only one bottle, so it's a sure bet that he's run out by now. We also don't know if he's inj --" He broke off suddenly as his eyes drifted over the paramedic's shoulder to another man who was hanging back, waiting for a moment to speak. An expression of disbelief flashed across his weary face. "Larry?" he asked.

Now that he had been noticed, the CalSci professor approached him with an apologetic expression. "They wouldn't let me go up," he explained. "So, I decided to wait down here until you were ready to leave."

"I suppose you want to go with us," Don guessed.

"Well, yes. I figured the more eyes you have searching, the sooner we'll find him. Right?" When Don didn't answer, he glanced at Alan. "Right?" he asked again.

"Right," Alan agreed in a firm voice that everyone knew was for Don's benefit. "We appreciate your offer to help. Don't we, Don?" then shifted his gaze expectantly to his older son.

Don's eyes swept the lobby, searching for anyone else who might be of a mind to go with them, but he saw no more familiar faces. "All right, but I can only seat four people in my vehicle. I have a lot of FBI equipment in the back of the SUV, so we can't use the rear seat. Dad, why don't you and Larry ride together, and David, Wade, and I will go in my vehicle."

"Just don't get any ideas about trying to lose us on the road," Alan warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Don said as the group of men walked out the door and turned toward the parking lot. Then, with Don's SUV in the lead and Larry's car behind, the small entourage drove toward old highway 13.

xxxxxx

In spite of the uncomfortable conditions, Charlie must have managed to doze off at some point during the night, for he was startled awake by a peculiar sound that he could not immediately identify.

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to drive away the remnants of sleep, he lifted his head from where it had been resting against the wall behind him and cringed at the discomfort caused by the movement. He had known the previous day that he would be stiff and sore this morning, but he was unprepared for the pain that gripped the shoulder he had banged on the pavement during the accident. It had limbered up a bit yesterday as they had walked toward the _Oasis_, but now, after hours of inactivity, it had stiffened up painfully.

In addition to the accident related discomforts, his mouth was very dry, his neck was stiff, and a heavy weight was pressing down on his left thigh, making his leg numb. As he rubbed his hand on his shoulder, kneading the stiff muscles with his fingers, he looked down to find that Erica had curled up on the floor beside him and had fallen asleep with her head on his lap.

A smile crept to his lips as he observed the sleeping child. He had never been around children very much, and would have found the experience surprisingly pleasant had it not been for the circumstances that had thrown them together. Allowing the girl to sleep on, he yawned as he moved his fingers to his forehead and probed the area where he had been struck by the club. It was tender to the touch, but at least the headache had gone away.

Then he heard it again; a sound that chilled his blood and brought him fully awake as he realized what it was. It was the crunching of gravel on concrete beneath human shoes.

His head swiveled instantly toward the direction of the sound, trying to pinpoint its precise location. Turning to his right, toward the entryway on the west side of the building, he focused on the narrow gap between two strips of plywood and saw what appeared to be an eye pressed against it, peering into the restaurant.

His body gave an involuntary shudder in reaction to the startling presence of the other person, and the movement was enough to disturb Erica. Lifting her head from his lap, she sat up. "Wha--?"

"Sh!" Charlie commanded in an urgent whisper. "Someone's out there."

Her gasp of alarm was loud in the silence of the abandoned building, and she pressed her back against the wall, staring with wide eyes at the orb that was still peering between the two pieces of plywood. The eye shifted as the man who owned it pressed to one side and then the other, trying with apparently little success to see into the shadowy building.

Charlie was watching the man's behavior carefully, noticing how he continued to alter position. "Don't move," he whispered. "I don't think he can see us."

The sun was up. Slanted stripes of light penetrated the gaps between the plywood, but apparently the gap was too narrow for Jessup to adequately see through it. The eye disappeared, and Charlie listened as he moved around the corner to the front of the building. Occasionally, he stopped to test the viability of the plywood that was nailed over the windows and doors. Eventually, he would make his way around the east side to the service entrance, and he would surely notice the loose piece of plywood hanging there. He would know that they had taken refuge inside.

The gift shop was just around the corner through the entryway. Perhaps there was another exit there, a door through which they could escape and make their way into the hills where they could hide.

As he stood up, Charlie sucked his breath in sharply in response to the twinge that went through his sore hip. Like his shoulder, it had not troubled him too much the previous day, but now, after sitting still throughout the night, it had become stiff and sore. Grasping the edge of the counter to steady himself, he pressed his hand against the injury and waited for the discomfort to pass.

Erica stood up quickly and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Are you okay?" she whispered, her expression worried.

He nodded. "Just a catch in my hip, left over from the bicycle accident I had yesterday," he told her. "I'm afraid it stiffened up during the night. I'm going to see if there's another door on this side of the building."

He released his grip on the counter and with his hand still pressed against the bruise, he went through the lobby area, then around the corner toward the rear of the building. The restrooms were positioned there, as was the door of the room that had once been the gift shop. It was not a large room, but like the restaurant area, the windows had been boarded up with thin slivers of light penetrating the cracks. As his eyes quickly scanned the walls through the dusky interior, he quickly deduced that there was no outside door there for them to use. Disappointment expressed itself in a soft sigh as he turned back toward the restaurant area.

Erica was waiting for him in the doorway.

"There's no door. We can't get out this way," he told her.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, fearfully. "There's no way out except for that side door, and he's going to find it!"

Charlie's eyes fixed on the sliding wooden doors beneath the counter. Kneeling beside it, he carefully slid one of them open and looked inside, seeking anything that might be helpful. It clearly had been used as a storage area for extra goods, perhaps tobacco products or candy, but there was nothing inside except a dead beetle lying on its back, its tiny legs in the air.

He flipped the beetle aside, then beckoned Erica with two fingers. "I want you to hide in here," he whispered.

"What about you?" she whispered back as she moved toward him.

"I'm going to see if there is some way to secure that door," he told her.

"Do you think maybe it could be your brother?" she asked, hopefully.

"Don would have called my name if he was looking for me, but it could just be a passerby snooping around." His words of encouragement to the girl bore no truth to them. He knew without a doubt that the man was Jessup, and that he was still trying to find them to carry out his threats. He gestured toward the interior of the counter. "Inside."

Obediently, she crawled inside the storage space, and Charlie slid the door closed, concealing her inside.

In a crouched position to utilize the protection the counter gave him should Jessup find a place to look inside, he made his way along the side of the long structure until he reached the end of it. The front and side of the restaurant had been constructed of glass, offering splendid views of the desert to the customers. Now boarded up with plywood, Charlie could see the man's shadow through the gaps as he proceeded along the east side of the building. Momentarily, he would find the door.

With a slight limp in his gait, he stepped carefully to prevent his sneakers from crunching on the debris that littered the floor, and pushed on the swinging doors that separated the dining area from the kitchen. After moving through them, he allowed them to drift quietly back into place. He had not gotten a good look at the kitchen the night before because of the dark, but now, in daylight, the room was darkly shadowed but viewable. Hookups for the ovens and grills lined one wall, and across from it was the space where the sinks had once stood. A slightly discolored area on the linoleum indicated where the large freezer had once stood.

Outside, he heard Jessup grasp another board and tug on hit, but seemed satisfied that it was secure. Within moments, he would notice the service entrance. Slowly, Charlie crept toward the door, hoping to find some way to secure it before the convict reached it.

As he reached the entrance, his eyes fell immediately upon the round door knob, but it was too late to try to find anything to block the door. Jessup was there. He had already found the loose plywood, and Charlie could hear the sounds of it being ripped from the outer wall. Then, abruptly, the noises stopped.

Charlie backed up quickly, returning to the kitchen area, and moved behind the protection of the wall. Peering around the corner, he watched the door knob, waiting tensely for it to turn. He was uncertain what he would do to protect himself or the girl when the convict entered, but one thing that was in his advantage was the fact that his eyes were already adjusted to the dim light and Jessup's were not. Coming inside out of the bright sun, it would initially be difficult for him to see inside the dusky building. He looked around quickly again, seeking something useful, something he could use to knock out the criminal, and his eyes came to rest on the steel pipes that protruded from the wall. Perhaps he could pry one of them loose.

Quietly, he moved across the darkened kitchen to the hookups, and placed his hand on the first one. It was securely fastened in place with steel nuts, and he did not have the tools to remove them. He turned a helpless circle in the middle of the room, searching for something that he could use as a weapon, but found nothing.

It was then that he realized that there was still no sound coming from outside. Enough time had elapsed that Jessup should have been inside the building by then.

Creeping back to the door, he leaned against it, listening intently, but there was no indication that Jessup was there. Would he have given up? Charlie felt that was unlikely, given the ease with which he could have breached the loose door knob. Something else must have happened. Then another thought sprang into his mind. Perhaps Jessup had seen Don's FBI vehicle approaching along the highway, and had been scared away! That must be it! Don was here!

Excitement surged through him, and Charlie eagerly turned the knob and poked his head out the door. An instant later, a hand reached from behind the door and grabbed the front of his tee shirt, yanking him completely off his feet.

Charlie cried out in pain and surprise as his battered and bruised body sprawled onto the hard ground. He instantly flipped over, watching with horrified eyes as that gnarled club swung at his head once more with great force. This time, he rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet as the club slammed on the ground with a loud thud where he had been lying an instant before. Spinning away from the convict, he began to run, hoping to lead the convict away from the girl.

Jessup was startled by Charlie's agility, but recovered quickly. In a foot chase with the younger, more nimble man, he knew he was at a disadvantage. Hefting the club again, he flung it at the fleeing mathematician, a well-aimed toss that struck him behind the knees.

Charlie's knees buckled and he pitched forward on his face on the rocky ground. Before he could react, Jessup grasped both hands full of his tee shirt and roughly flung him over on to his back. Wide eyed with terror, Charlie could only watch helplessly as the criminal straddled him, effectively pinning him to the ground with his weight. A moment later, Jessup's huge, filthy hands were at his throat. Struggling to breathe, Charlie's hands gripped the man by the wrists, attempting to wrench them away from his throat, but he was no match for the convict's strength. Instead, Jessup bore down harder.

"Yer a smart little feller, ain'tcha?" Jessup taunted as he continued to bear down on Charlie's trachea. "Thought you could hide in there and I wouldn't know it. But I had a pretty good idea you was in there. See, I saw yer bike stashed down by the highway, so I knew you'd be comin' here to wait for help. And I knew you'd be able to see better in there than me, since I was comin' in outta the sun, so I figured if I waited long enough, you couldn't resist stickin' yer head outside to see if I was still around!"

Reaching toward that surly face, Charlie desperately attempted to press his thumbs in Jessup's eyes and at the same time he brought his knee up swiftly, slamming it into the man's back. Jessup grunted as the knee struck him in the middle of his back, and he jerked his head to the side to avoid the probing thumbs. Enraged that his victim was fighting back, he pressed down on the mathematician's throat with one hand and backhanded him across the face with the other.

Charlie had never been slapped by anyone before, and was surprised by the stinging pain that shot through his cheek, but he was unable to utter any kind of exclamation of surprise or discomfort, for there was no air coming in and no air going out. He was beginning to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

The bright sunlight seemed to be fading at an alarming rate. Darkness was drawing across his eyes like a deepening shadow, and he knew he was losing consciousness.

Charlie turned his head toward the road, hoping desperately to see his brother's black SUV pulling into the lot, but his eyes were met only with the rugged desert terrain; the shrubs, the rocks, and the hot asphalt of Satan's Ribbon. It was here in this desolate place that he was going to die, far from home and family. Soon, Don would arrive and find his lifeless body lying in the desert, murdered by a demented killer.

He felt his body growing weaker and weaker. His arms fell limply to the ground, and his right hand fell against something hard and gnarled. With a jolt of cognizance he realized that it was Jessup's club. It must have landed there when he had thrown it at him. His hand closed around it and, gathering all his remaining strength, Charlie swung at the back of Jessup's head as hard as he could. It was not a fatal blow; he hadn't sufficient strength left for that, but it was certainly enough to render him temporarily senseless. With a low groan, Jessup slumped over.

Charlie shoved the groaning, barely conscious man off him, scrambling out from under him at the same time. He managed to stagger to his feet, dropping the club at his feet, and with his hands at his throat, he coughed and gasped, trying to fill his lungs with air.

Holding his head in his hands, Jessup attempted to rise, but fell back and lay still.

The door was still hanging open, and the girl hesitantly emerged from it, alerted by the sounds of the struggle. "Charlie?" She saw instantly that his was visibly distressed, and hurried to his side. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I think so," he replied, his voice hoarse. He coughed again, his eyes focused intently on the man he had just struck, shocked by what he had just done, and yet feeling no remorse either. He had done what he had to do to save his own life. He was finding reserves of strength and determination that he had not even known he had.

Once he had managed to catch his breath again, he bent down to pick up the club again, making certain it remained out of Jessup's reach. After a grateful glance at it, considering it a form of poetic justice that he had defended himself with Jessup's own weapon, he tossed it aside. Kneeling down beside the convict, keeping a sharp eye out for signs that he was coming around, he slipped his hand into the man's front pocket and felt around until his fingers closed on the key ring, and he withdrew it from the pocket. He held them out to the girl.

"Erica, I need to you to do something. I want you to run back to the car as fast as you can and get the ropes out of the trunk. The ropes he tied you up with. They should still be there. Bring them to me."

She was standing immobile, staring at Jessup with wide, frightened eyes. "Is he dead?"

"Go!" Charlie said sharply, bringing her out of her trance.

She cast one final, fearful glance at the criminal, then spun around and ran toward the car, still parked behind the service station.

Rubbing his hand across his throat again, as if trying to rub away the feel of the man's fingers, Charlie approached the convict again. Reaching down, he grasped him by the ankles, determined that he would not lower himself to the level of the criminal by leaving him senseless under the blazing sun. He was severely weakened from hunger and thirst, but mostly from the ordeal of almost being choked to death, and Jessup was very heavy. Tugging and straining, he managed, little by little, to drag the limp form under the awning and into the shade. There, he allowed the man's legs to drop unceremoniously onto the concrete. Humane treatment was one thing, but there was no need to be excessively gentle. The jolt seemed to revive the criminal slightly. He moaned and turned his head slightly, but the eyes did not open.

A few minutes later, Erica returned carrying two strips of white nylon rope, which she handed to Charlie. He knelt beside the felon and pushed him over onto his stomach. Seizing him by the wrists, he pulled them together behind his back, where they were securely tied. Moving to his legs, he began tying his ankles together as well.

Just as he made the final tug on the rope, binding them securely, Doyle Jessup's body jerked fully awake, and he began to thrash, startled to find himself trussed up.

Charlie jumped backward, putting a safe distance between them as the convict rocked back and forth on his abdomen and pulled with his arms, attempting to free himself from the tethers. "You might want to avoid struggling," he advised. "If you keep pulling on them like that, it'll just make it worse."

Jessup bellowed with rage, forming no coherent words, just enraged roars. Ignoring Charlie's advice, he squirmed and struggled even harder, screaming louder as the ropes tightened around his wrists. Finally, realizing that his struggles were only causing more discomfort, he rolled onto his side and became still, except for the rapid in and out motion of his heavy breathing. His face was flaming red with rage. Focusing vicious eyes on the mathematician, he demanded, "Let me go."

"Sorry, but I can't do that," Charlie said, taking the car keys from Erica's hand.

"Untie me, boy!" Jessup shouted.

Ignoring him, Charlie turned to the girl. "Come on," he told her. "We're getting out of here."

Panic flickered in Jessup's eyes at the thought of being abandoned, and his raised his head off the concrete, grimacing at the pain it caused. "No! Wait! You're not going to leave me here like this!"

"Yeah, I am," Charlie replied as he turned back to face him. "However, unlike you, I'm not a killer, so I've pulled you into the shade so you won't blister or die of heat stroke or something like that. Even though you probably deserve it, it isn't my decision to make. You'll be all right until I can send someone back for you."

Jessup understood the consequences of being picked up by the authorities. He began pulling and tugging again, trying to free his wrists of the rope. When the effort failed, he raged, "You let me loose right now, boy! I aint goin' back to prison!"

"Yes, you are, but I'm afraid you're in even bigger trouble than before. That guard you beat up died."

"At least loosen these ropes," the convict pleaded. "They're biting into my wrists; they're cutting off my circulation."

Charlie shook his head, understanding that the criminal wanted to ropes loosened so that it would be easier for him to get out of them. "I'm sorry, but I warned you about thrashing around like that. You'll just have to tolerate it for a while."

"My head feels like its splittin' apart! You gotta help me!"

"Now you know how I felt yesterday," Charlie retorted without sympathy.

Taking Erica by the hand, they walked toward the car, which was still parked behind the service station. They could hear Jessup, escaped convict, convicted killer, begging him not to leave him behind.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

* * *

**Eight**

Charlie opened the driver's side door and slid into the car while Erica opened the other door and climbed into the passenger seat. First, he turned to look into the rear seat and on the floorboards, hoping to find some bottled water or a box of cookies, anything to fill the empty space in their stomachs and soothe their dry throats, but found only a wadded up hamburger wrapper and an empty paper cup, presumably Jessup's last meal before heading out into the desert.

Facing the front of the car again, he inserted the key in the ignition and turned it, feeling the power of the vehicle as it roared to life. As the engine idled, he sat quietly for several moments, contemplating the fact that he had not driven a car in a very long time. It felt alien to him, and his hands moved along the various controls, getting accustomed to the feel of being behind the wheel again. The automatic gear shift was on the floor, the radio controls just above it. A tape was protruding from the deck, and he pulled it out to look at it. It was a homemade tape, probably someone's favorite songs, for it was labeled in handwritten script, _1980's Rock._ It looked like a woman's writing, he noted, with its small, precise lettering. Above the deck were the controls for the windshield wipers and the heater and air conditioning. Above the steering wheel was the gas gauge, and he observed it curiously. The tank was nearly half full. That was good; at least they would not run out before they reached civilization.

Glancing at Erica, he saw that she was staring at him, wondering why it was taking him so long. "It's been a long time since I've driven a car," he explained.

She looked startled. "You do know, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah! Of course, I know how!" Looking at her worried face, he chose not to reveal the fact that his license had been revoked, but his obvious discomfort was making her nervous. "Well, I guess we should get going," he said at last.

He shifted the car into drive, eased off the brake, and the car crept slowly forward. Applying a little more pressure on the gas pedal, it accelerated faster than he had anticipated. To compensate for the unexpected speed, he slammed the brake, sending Erica sliding off the seat and onto the floor.

"Sorry," he apologized, seriously embarrassed. "It's been a long time, and these pedals are a little touchy. I haven't quite got the feel of it yet. You okay?"

With a rather accusing stare, she climbed back into the seat and reached for the seat belt, a gesture which, combined with her expression, made him feel slightly offended. "Maybe you should put yours on too," she suggested as she securely fastened the belt.

He gave a shrug, realizing that she was right. "Good idea."

He quickly strapped on the seat belt, then eased off the brake again and applied a little less pressure to the gas pedal. The car moved forward at a more controlled speed. As they reached the edge of the building, he rotated the steering wheel and felt a surge of satisfaction when the car moved around the corner.

Maintaining a carefully restrained pace, Charlie guided the car back onto the blacktop and moved past the pumps to the parking lot entrance. Coming to a complete stop, he looked up and down the highway to verify that no cars were coming. Through the open windows they could still hear Doyle Jessup shouting at them. Charlie ignored him, concentrating on the long ribbon of asphalt, then, deeming it safe, he pulled the car out onto the road headed west.

He accelerated slowly, making certain that he was able to control the vehicle, before he gained too much speed. A speed sign flashed past which read 55 miles per hour, and he automatically lowered his eyes to the speedometer. He was traveling at 45 miles per hour, and felt pretty comfortable at that speed. It was a safe speed, and he was content to remain at that pace.

After a few moments, Erica turned around in her seat to look behind her at the abandoned diner, and he heard her heave a deep sigh of relief. "You okay?" he asked.

"We're safe," she said. "Finally, we're safe!"

He smiled. "Yep, that we are. Jessup isn't going anywhere. I'm surprised that Don hasn't showed up yet, but there is a convenience store up ahead. We'll stop there and phone for help."

She settled back in her seat and looked out the window at the landscape as Charlie continued to drive toward civilization.

xxxxxx

"Wait! What was that?" Alan called out abruptly. His head whirled around to look out the back window. "Stop!"

Responding to the urgent request, Larry immediately braked, honking his horn at the same time to announce to the SUV ahead of them that they were stopping. "What is it?" he asked, noticing that Don's brake lights had come on in reaction to the sound of the horn.

"There's something on the road back there."

Larry glanced up in the rear view mirror, observing the road behind them as the car came to a complete stop on the asphalt, but saw only the long stretch of highway that faded into the distance. "I didn't see anything. It was probably just an animal."

"It wasn't an animal!" Alan insisted. "I only caught a glimpse of it as we drove past, but it looked like some kind of mark on the road. Back up!"

Shifting the car in reverse, Larry drove backward until the large X came into view beside the car. "You're right," he said. "Someone has clearly been here, and logic suggests that someone is probably Charles." Putting the car in park, he opened the door and stepped out to view the letter that had been written in sandstone on the pavement.

Alan quickly exited the vehicle on the passenger side and hurried around the rear of the car to join him, and they stood, one on each side of it, looking down at the mark.

They heard the whine of the SUV's engine as Don shifted into reverse and backed up, stopping just in front of Larry's car. The three men got out of the vehicle and approached them.

"What've you got?" Don asked, but he spotted the X in the road before the question had been completed. He removed his sunglasses for a better look. "Was this here yesterday when you came by?"

Larry shrugged. "I'm afraid I didn't notice. Laurel and I were looking off into the landscape searching for Charles. I didn't see it this time either for the same reason."

"Which is what we were doing just now," David admitted. "We missed it too."

"Well, given the fact that no one ever travels on this road, I think it's a pretty safe bet that it was him," Alan said. "The question is, why?"

Don walked slowly around the letter, examining it. "Well, judging from the size of it, he wanted to make certain it was seen." He lifted his eyes to the clumps of brush just off the side of the road, then moved slowly toward them as if searching for something.

"What are you looking for?" Larry asked.

"Anything that looks like he might have --- " He broke off suddenly, and stepped behind a clump of brush.

"What is it?" Alan asked with sudden alarm. Had he found Charlie? Had he crawled off the road badly injured? Was he ---? "Donny?"

Don emerged from the brush with the bicycle.

Alan felt his heart leap into his throat, instantly recognizing the familiar vehicle that was his younger son's primary means of transportation. "That's Charlie's!" He spun around, searching the wilderness, a panicked expression on his face. "Oh, dear God where is he?"

Don placed the bike on the asphalt and knelt down to examine it for damage. "Looks like he had a blowout," he said, indicating the gaping hole in the front tire. His eyes scanned the frame, noticing the dents and the scuffed paint, and his fingers reached out to touch one particularly scraped area.

With somber expressions, the others crowded close to examine the damaged bicycle.

Larry was shaking his head slowly. "Traveling at a high rate of speed, a blowout could cause some pretty serious injuries, especially on the front tire. When it locks up, it would typically send the rider over the handlebars. I sincerely hope he was wearing his helmet and pads."

"His equipment is here," Don said as he stood up again. He indicated the helmet with the gloves and pads. "He couldn't have been too badly injured, since he was cognizant enough to take them off and hide the bike. This pretty much confirms my assumption that he took off across country. He put the X on the road so he could locate the bike again once he was picked up." At the bottom of the helmet, he found the shattered cell phone, and held it up for the others to see. "Here's why he couldn't call us."

"You were right," David said.

"Okay, let's get going," Don said, glancing at his watch. "That traffic jam on the interstate has put us behind schedule. I had hoped to be at the _Oasis_ by now."

"Yeah, can you believe that?" Larry asked. "Of all the days to get stuck behind a six car pile-up! Why don't we put the bike on my car? I left the rack on it just in case we needed it."

Don and Larry lifted the bicycle onto the rack and secured it, then the climbed into their vehicles and sped away again.

They had not gone far when Don noticed a burgundy sedan driving toward them. It was not doing anything out of the ordinary and appeared to be traveling well within the traffic laws, but the presence of the vehicle itself on the deserted stretch of highway seemed unusual, and attracted his attention. Don watched it carefully as it approached, and as the two cars passed, both drivers glanced at each other.

Don's head instantly whirled around as the car passed. "That's Charlie!" He immediately applied the brakes.

Charlie had also recognized his brother, and slammed on the brake so hard that the tires squealed loudly and left twin streaks down the asphalt as they ground to a halt.

In spite of the SUV's large size, Don expertly maneuvered the vehicle into a U-turn on the narrow highway in which only the right front tire slipped from the asphalt onto the soft shoulder, and accelerated toward the now parked sedan.

Behind him, Larry and Alan had experienced the same jolting recognition, and the professor conducted a U-turn behind the SUV. Charlie had opened the car door and stepped out onto the pavement, waiting for them.

Don screeched to a halt behind him, and leaped out of the vehicle, instantly noticing that his younger brother was a bit worse for wear. When they reached each other, he placed a welcoming hand on Charlie's shoulder, and was startled when he stifled a cry of pain as he shrank away from the gesture, his own hand immediately going to the injured area. Concern flashed across his face. "Charlie? What the hell?" He placed both hands on the sides of his brother's face and examined him carefully, taking note of the huge bruise on his forehead. He probed at the contusion on his forehead with his fingertips.

Charlie was squirming uncomfortably beneath Don's inspection, and jerked his head back when his brother's probing fingers found a particularly sore spot. "Ow!"

Don removed his hands. "Sorry. What happened to you?"

"It's a long story, and I'll be happy to tell you about it, but right now –"

"Charlie!" Alan exclaimed as he jumped out of Larry's car before it had come to a complete halt and rushed toward his son. Don stepped to one side as Alan took his son into his arms for a tight embrace. Then, he drew back to examine him for injuries. "Oh, my God, Charlie! You're hurt!" His fingers went toward the same bruise that Don had been exploring, but stopped just short of touching it, his fatherly instinct advising him that it would be tender.

"I'm okay, Dad," Charlie assured him. "Just a bit sprained and bruised."

"I'll feel better once you're examined by an expert."

Don's eyes had fallen on the bruises that were beginning to form on his neck; bruises that faintly resembled fingers, and he reached out and gently lifted Charlie's hair from his neck, frowning at the marks that completely encircled his throat. "Who did this to you?"

"Doyle Jessup!" Charlie told him. "He tried to strangle me."

Don's eyes snapped up to his brother's face. "Jessup? What, you mean the escaped convict?"

"Yeah. The very same."

Before he could say more, the paramedic approached him with his medkit. "Here, let me take a look at those bruises."

Charlie took a step backward, avoiding the paramedic's hands. "No, not here. Jessup is tied up back at the _Oasis_. We need to get someone out there to pick him up before he manages to get out of the ropes. I'd hate for him to escape again."

"Ropes?" Don asked, surprised. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you _captured_ Doyle Jessup?"

"Yeah. I tied him pretty tight, but he was really struggling, so I don't know how long they'll hold him. We need to get back there if you want to take him into custody."

"You'll let the paramedic take a look at you when we get there, right?" Alan asked, firmly.

Charlie nodded. "Sure."

"Who's you friend?" Larry asked, his attention diverted to the girl who stood beside the car door, watching the reunion through curious but nervous eyes.

Charlie made a beckoning gesture with his hand, and the child moved toward him and took his hand for security. "This is Erica Davenport. She's from San Bernadino. Jessup kidnapped her yesterday morning. He was gonna . . . " He shrugged. "You know."

"We get the picture," Don said. "All right. We can discuss all this later. Let's go get Jessup."

Charlie turned and started back toward the car, which was still idling in the road, but Don clamped a hand on his shoulder – fortunately, the uninjured shoulder.

"Not you, buddy. Don't forget, you're not licensed to drive."

Charlie turned to face him, a hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Are you going to arrest me for driving without a license?"

"We'll let it slide this time," he replied with a wink. "Extenuating circumstances." He turned to his partner. "David, you take the car. Charlie will ride with me."

"I'm riding with you, too," Alan said.

Wade smiled, understanding the family bonding. "Given the limited seating in the SUV right now, I'll ride with David," he offered.

The men dispersed, each climbing into one of the three vehicles. Erica huddled close to Charlie, the only one with whom she was familiar. By the time they arrived at _the Desert Oasis_, Charlie had filled Don in on the highlights of his past twenty four hours. The details would be discussed back at the office.

As they pulled into the parking area beside the restaurant, Don's eyes fell upon the criminal, who was still struggling against his tethers. "I'll be damned," he muttered. "That's Jessup, all right." He stopped the car near the awning, and turned off the ignition.

When David had parked beside the SUV, the two agents approached the escaped convict, one on each side, their hands resting lightly on their guns, prepared to draw them if necessary. However, it quickly became apparent that Charlie had done an adequate job of securing him. While David covered him, Don bent over to check the ropes.

"They're secure," he said. "He's not going anywhere."

"Please loosen these things!" he pleaded. "My hands have gone numb! I swear, I ain't gonna try nothin'! Just loosen these ropes!"

"How 'bout I replace the ropes with handcuffs," Don suggested.

"Please! Yes!" the killed begged. "Anything; just get these ropes off me!"

"First time I've ever had a criminal begging me to cuff him," Don said to David as he removed the restraints from the cuff case on his belt. He squatted down and placed the cuffs on Jessup's wrists and fastened them securely. Then he attempted to untie the ropes, but they were too tight. "Idiot," he muttered. "You've struggled so much that you've tightened the knots. You should have known better than that. I'm going to have to cut them off. Hang on. I think I have a knife in my car."

Jessup was near tears. "Just hurry, please! I can't stand this much longer."

Don stood up and walked to the back of the SUV and opened one of the large cases of FBI equipment. He quickly located the knife, and walked back to the criminal. It was apparent to all that he was in no hurry, but most of all to Jessup, who by now was moaning his discomfort.

Don knelt down beside him again and applied the knife to the rope. After a few moments, the ropes fell free.

Jessup flexed his hands. "I can barely move my fingers!"

"They're moving just fine," Don told him, moving to his feet, where he removed the ropes that bound his ankles.

Then, with Don on one arm and David on the other, they hauled the killer to his feet and escorted him toward the SUV.

Charlie immediately opened the opposite door and slid out of the vehicle. Erica scooted out behind him, and Doyle Jessup was seated in their place.

"Sorry, but I have to transport him in my car," Don explained as he put leg restraints on the prisoner to keep him from trying anything foolish."

"That man there!" Jessup said, gesturing with his head toward Charlie. "He assaulted me! Hit me over the head with a club! Damn near knocked me senseless!"

"And what have you done to him?" Don snapped. "Your finger marks are visible on his throat where you tried to strangle him! He has a bruise on his forehead where you hit him with the club! Don't you get any ideas of trying to make an issue out of this, because I'm making sure his injuries are well documented! You're not going to get any sympathy from anyone, plus you'll be doing extra time for assaulting him and for killing that prison guard."

Jessup shut up, and with a scowl on his face, leaned against the backrest.

"David, read him his rights and call it in."

"Sure thing," David replied.

With the prisoner secured, Larry and the paramedic got out of the other vehicles and approached them.

Alan took Charlie by the arm. "You promised to let the paramedic have a look at you," he reminded him.

Charlie nodded, submitting to his father's gentle tug on his arm, and allowed himself to be led to the curb in front of the restaurant. Wearily, he sank down on it. Wade squatted down in front of him and as gently as he could, probed at the contusion on his forehead with experienced fingers.

"That is one nasty bruise," he said. "How hard were you hit?"

"Hard enough to knock me down," Charlie answered.

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"No, but it was close. It sort of paralyzed my whole body. I couldn't move for awhile."

Erica sat down beside him and watched while the paramedic examined the professor. When he glanced at her, she asked, "Do you have any water, please?"

"I sure do," he said, opening the medkit. He withdrew a six-pack of eight ounce bottles of water, popped one off the ring-holder, and opened it for her. "Slowly," he cautioned. "I know you're thirsty, but if you drink it too fast you'll get sick." He held the bottle out to her and allowed her to take it.

She immediately tipped it up and gulped it eagerly.

Wade reached for it, pulling it back down. "Easy there! Remember what I said?"

"Sorry," she said. "I couldn't stop."

"Just keep sipping it slowly, but don't guzzle, okay?" He opened another bottle for Charlie. "Same thing," he warned. "Drink it slowly.

Charlie took the bottle, intending to take only a couple of swallows, but once the swallow reflex was engaged, he found it difficult to stop as well. The water was warm, but it was wet and very refreshing, and he had swallowed four or five times before Alan finally grasped the bottle and forced it down.

Charlie grinned, sheepishly. "I can't remember ever being this thirsty."

"You're badly dehydrated," Wade said, removing a small penlight from his shirt pocket. "Look straight ahead," he said.

Charlie forced himself to still while the paramedic flicked the penlight in his eyes, testing them for the proper reaction to light.

"Any nausea? Changes in vision? Headaches?"

"I had a headache for a while yesterday after I was hit, but no, no problems with my eyes. The only time I came close to hurling was when that scumbag was in my face, and I had to smell his rotten breath."

"That bad, huh?"

"Like a dead skunk!"

Wade chuckled. "That's pretty bad!" He clicked off the penlight and returned it to his pocket. "Looks good," he announced. "Both eyes are equal and reactive, and I couldn't feel any indications of a fracture. You might have had a mild concussion, but there doesn't seem to be any lingering damage. I'd have your doctor take a look at it, though, just to be safe."

"I will make sure that he does," Alan said.

"It's a well known fact that he's got a hard head," Don quipped. "By the way, can I have one of those for the prisoner? The last thing I want is a police brutality charge coming out of this."

"Sure thing," Wade said. Snapping another bottle from the holder, he handed it to the agent. "If he's been without water for a while, make sure he drinks it slowly, or it may end up on the floor of your vehicle."

"Thanks for the warning," Don replied. He took the bottle to the prisoner, and held it for him while he took a drink.

David returned the microphone to the hook, and said, "The car was reported stolen night before last by a resident of Palmdale. She had been working late, and stopped for a stop sign on the way home when he pulled open the driver's door, yanked her out, and then drove off."

"She was lucky that she was an adult," Don commented. "Isn't that right, Jessup? You prefer them young, don't you?"

Jessup scowled, but did not answer.

"Yeah, and it was a good lesson in why people should lock their car doors!" David continued. "After he got the car, he drove right on down Highway 138 until he got to San Bernadino. He probably spent the night in the park, then the girl happened by the next morning. They're going to notify her parents, and have them meet us at the office."

"Good. I bet they'll be relieved."

David leaned against the car and watched while the paramedic examined Charlie's sore shoulder. "You know, he solved three cases in one day! The escaped prisoner, the stolen car, and the kidnapped girl. Not bad for a college professor!"

Don smiled. "He never ceases to amaze me."

Sensing Don's eyes on him, Charlie looked up and their eyes met. Don gave a slight nod, but no words were necessary. The expression said it all: _Good job, Buddy._

tbc

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**A/N:** One more to wrap things up. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter One

**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed. Your kind words mean a lot.

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**Nine**

_Four weeks later . . . ._

Wearing shorts, sneakers, and a CalSci tee-shirt, Charlie leaned low over the bike's handlebars and pedaled faster. His eyes were fixed intensely on the one bicyclist that remained ahead of him, a strong, powerfully built professor from the Chemical Engineering Department at UCLA. He was built like a line-backer with legs that were like tree trunks, large stocky arms, and a chest that bulged with muscle. He guided his sleek, expensive bicycle with confidence and expertise. Charlie did not know his name, but Larry had pointed him out as a strong contender before the race started, and had informed him that he had a reputation for his athleticism. He was seeing that athleticism now, and was suitably impressed. Approximately four lengths separated the two bicycles, and the UCLA professor was not giving an inch to the younger man who tailed him.

After obtaining a clean bill of health from his doctor, Charlie had quickly resumed his training on the newly repaired bicycle. For his own sense of completion, he had asked Larry to drop him off at _the Desert Oasis_ once more so that he could finish the trip he had started, but Larry had insisted on driving along behind him just to assure himself and Alan that this time, everything would go smoothly.

Meanwhile, Doyle Jessup had been returned to prison, where he would await trial for the murder of the prison guard during his escape. He had been moved to maximum security and the privileges he had been granted during his previous incarceration had been revoked.

Best of all, Charlie had been witness to the tearful reunion between Erica and her parents in Don's office. Mrs. Davenport had thanked him over and over for keeping her daughter safe, and Mr. Davenport had shook his hand and repeatedly expressed his gratitude. Her brother Chad was there as well, and had given her an affectionate punch on the arm in lieu of a hug, but she seemed to realize that there was fondness behind the gesture. "I'm glad you're back, squirt," he had said, gruffly. The entire Davenport family was in attendance at the race, somewhere in the crowd of spectators that lined the streets of the route used for the contest, but he did not dare break his concentration long enough to look for them.

Charlie tucked his head lower and focused on pedaling, watching as his knees, protected by the knee pads, moved rapidly up and down in steady rhythm. His legs were getting tired, but the breeze that was generated by the rapid speed was pleasant. It cooled the sweat on his body and whipped the dark curls that peeked out from beneath the helmet. He could hear the new tires humming softly against the concrete, and his old bicycle was performing like a champion. Who said new was better? When he looked up again, the gap between him and the UCLA professor seemed to have closed a bit. His pulse increased with anticipation.

_Faster!_ the voice inside his head shouted, encouragingly.

His brow was furrowed with concentration as they flew past the marker which designated the final mile of the race. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, gauging the proximity of the rider behind him. The nearest bicyclist was nearly a quarter mile back and losing ground. He was no longer a threat. All the others were in the distance. It was CalSci against UCLA. One or the other would win the race, and Charlie wanted nothing more at that moment than to be the first one across the line.

The gap continued to close as Charlie advanced along the right side of the other professor, who looked over at him in surprise when the much smaller man pulled alongside. They were side-by-side as they went around a curve in the road, and they could see that the crowd of spectators was larger near the finish line. A cheer rose up from the students, faculty members, families, and bystanders as the two competitors came into view.

Standing just behind the rope that kept the spectators safely off the street, Alan's heart pounded with excitement when he saw the familiar helmet coming around the bend. "Is that Charlie?" he asked, shouting to be heard above the roar of the crowd.

A pair of binoculars hung by its strap around Don's neck, and he raised them to his eyes and rotated the focus with his finger. "Yeah! _Yeah!_ It's him! _COME ON CHARLIE!"_ he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Alan grabbed the binoculars from Don's hands, nearly yanking him off his feet with the neck strap, and raised it to his eyes. "_COME ON CHARLIE!"_ he yelled.

"Dad! _DAD!_ You're choking me!" Don protested, tugging on the strap.

"Oh! Sorry!" He flipped the strap over Don's head and yelled again.

Charlie could not have heard his family's exuberance, even if he had been close enough. His level of concentration had reached that pinnacle where nothing else could penetrate. He was focused on only one thing, and that was attaining a greater degree of physical stamina. Mind over matter.

UCLA's wheel inched ahead of Charlie's as the other professor gave one last burst of determination in an attempt to put a comfortable distance between him and his opponent, but he was unprepared for the resolve of the younger mathematics genius. The two professors fought valiantly for the lead, but a half mile from the finish line, Charlie surged ahead.

The CalSci fans screamed with exhilaration, and Charlie absorbed the energy from their enthusiasm, allowing it to fuel his endurance. He would not let them down!

A quarter mile from the finish line, Charlie glanced to his left and discovered that the other competitor had fallen back. A quick glimpse over his shoulder revealed that nearly a length and a half separated them. The UCLA professor had run out of steam. He would settle for second place. The roar from the crowd grew louder.

Taking nothing for granted, refusing to become complacent, Charlie gave it everything he had. He was still pulling ahead when he broke the colorful ribbon that was stretched across the road. The long crepe paper streamer fluttered behind him as he released the handlebars and thrust his fists triumphantly into the air. His own yell of victory was lost in the sheer volume of the pandemonium that surrounded him. Over the loudspeaker, he heard the announcer shout excitedly into his microphone: "And the winner by five lengths is Dr. Charles Eppes of CalSci!"

Don and Alan flung their arms around one another, slapping each other on the back, unable to contain their excitement. When they parted, David, a huge grin showing brilliant white teeth against his dark skin, high-fived Don. Larry was standing quietly beside them, his fists pressed against his lips, but like David, he was grinning broadly.

Charlie began to allow himself to come down off his physical and emotional high. His hands returned to the handlebars, reducing speed as he guided the bike to the side of the street to provide ample room for the riders and bicycles behind him. As he dismounted, he was mobbed by a crowd of CalSci students from his classes, who embraced him, slapped him on the back and on top of the helmet, congratulating him.

He was unable to hear any of the individual words that were spoken to him due to the enormity of the noise and the expanse of the crowd, so he just grinned happily and nodded his head in response to the voices that surrounded him.

As he unstrapped his helmet and removed it from his head, the UCLA cyclist came to a stop beside him and offered his hand. "Well done, Dr. Eppes," he said, shouting to be heard. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. You gave me a run for my money!" Charlie shouted back, accepting the handshake.

The other professor coasted away, and Charlie was escorted to the microphone for the presentation.

Through his years of teaching and lecturing, he had grown accustomed to being in front of large crowds, but this was by far the largest crowd he had ever stood before. Faculty members and students from several local universities had participated in the race, and everyone crowded close to the podium for the presentation.

As he took his place at the podium with the presenter, Charlie's eyes searched the crowd for his friends and family, pausing with a smile as he found each one. Don, Alan, David, and Larry were clumped together nearby, and farther out he saw Erica and her family. Erica waved happily, and with a smile he waved back. He knew that she was in therapy to help her deal with the horrors she had witnessed, but she was doing well and it appeared that she would recover nicely.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the presenter, who was speaking into the microphone. "Well, that rain shower we had last night nearly cancelled the event for us, but I'm very pleased that it cleared off in time for us to proceed with the race." He held out a nice plaque. "Dr. Eppes, I present to you this with plaque in honor of your victory today, and here is the winner's check to be donated to the charity of your choice. The name is blank, so you can fill in the organization that will benefit from your victory."

Charlie accepted the plaque and after holding it up for the crowd to see, he placed it on the podium, then took the check, the item he wanted most. He held it for several moments, committing every detail to memory, including the small tear in the corner where it had not been adequately perforated. "Gotta pen?" he asked with a grin. "I seem to have left mine at home."

Everyone laughed as the presenter searched his pockets until he found an ink pen, which he offered to the young professor. Charlie quickly wrote in the name of the organization he intended to make his donation to, and handed the pen back to the announcer.

Charlie gazed out at the faces of the spectators, and began to speak, "First, I want to thank the various institutions of higher learning that got together and sponsored this race, the staff members who competed, all of you who came out to cheer us on, and especially the people who donated the money for this generous prize. It was a wonderful event, and I hope everyone had as good a time as I did, but we must remember the purpose for coming together like this is not only in the spirit of school unity, but so that we can do our part to help fund the research to wipe out some of the most horrible illnesses known to mankind. Every competitor in this race had in mind a charity he or she wished to support, all of them important, all of them worthy of this money. But for me, the cause is very personal. I can't even begin to express how badly I wanted to win this race; not for this wonderful plaque, which I will cherish always, but to help stamp out an illness that will have touched the lives of most of us at one time or another. It struck a devastating blow to my family last year, when my mother passed away of cancer. In her name and memory, Margaret Eppes, I donate this check to the American Cancer Society."

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, and Alan wiped a tear of joy from his cheek. Don slipped on his sunglasses to hide the tears that were welling in his eyes, his chest swelling with pride for his younger brother as he clapped his hands and whistled.

Charlie lifted his eyes to the sky, noticing the beautiful rainbow that arched over the lush palm trees, and felt the warmth of his mother's love.

"For you, Mom," he said.

**The End **

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**A/N:** I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I apologize to those who were hoping for more on the reunion between Erica and her family, but I was having trouble working it in where it would flow smoothly with the rest of the chapter, so in the end I simply inserted it as a recap.


End file.
